The Lights Of Port Royal
by dorian dark
Summary: Following everyone's favourite Commodore as he tries to pick up the pieces left by Elizabeth's rejection. Groves' younger sister could be just the thing...Non DMC compliant CHAPTER 40 Norrington finds happiness. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

AN: I introduce my very first POTC fic, starring that most misunderstood and maligned character, the esteemed Commodore J. Norrington. Yes, I know this will become AU the moment DMC is released, but I revel in romantic, fluffy fics. And I'm a sucker for a wig. So without any further ado… enjoy, drop me a line if you did, and come back soon for more! Lots of love, Dorian Dark xxx

Disclaimer: I own only my OCs. Disney and people own the rest.

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1

The Commodore held his head high as he walked through the archway, aware of the eyes of his men boring into his back. Gillette's politely baffled face, the Governor's steadfast glare, and…Elizabeth. Walking through the now-deserted courtyard, past the ruined gallows, he could almost see her on that parapet, her hair softened and illuminated by the brilliant Caribbean sun. He decided not to think of Will Turner's smile as he leaned in to kiss his fiancée.

He relished the dark cool of his small office, the comforting reality of his maps and charts. Removing his cumbersome dress coat, he began to prepare a report on the loss of the _Interceptor._ It was so much easier to immerse himself in cannon-balls, in splintered masts and dastardly pirates, in latitudes and longitudes, than to remember Elizabeth's voice… 'For me, Commodore…as a wedding gift.'

Dusk was falling on Port Royal, and Norrington's hand was beginning to ache when a tentative knock interrupted his silence.

'Yes?'

'It's Lt. Groves, sir. May I come in?'

'Yes, yes of course.'

The anxious young Lt. sidled into the room, still attired in his perfect uniform. He looked mildly surprised to see his superior sitting calmly at his desk, hard at work.

'I…er…I wanted to ensure that you were…that is, some of the men…'

'Are you quite all right, Lt.?'

'Yes, quite, sir.'

Groves stood there somewhat uncomfortably for several seconds, gripping the rim of his hat tightly.

'Sir?'

'Yes?' Norrington answered slightly impatiently.

'Are _you _all right, sir, if I might be so bold as to enquire?'

'I assure you, Lt. Groves, I have never been in better health.'

'Um…good. That's good, sir. I…by which I mean we…were concerned…considering the events of the day…'

'Were you now?' A note of steel had entered the Commodore's steady voice.

'I...'

'Let me tell you, Lt., that it is of no consequence whether we apprehend Captain Sparrow today, tomorrow, or next year…after the loss of the _Interceptor_, my reputation can hardly be tarnished further by the escape of a petty criminal.'

'Oh. I…Commodore…I rather meant the treachery of Miss Swann.'

Norrington's eyes narrowed, and he sat up very straight in his chair, looking shrewdly at the young officer.

'Groves, might I remind you that Miss Swann is a lady, and thus to accuse her so wildly is disrespectful in the extreme. She has done nothing wrong. We shall consider the matter closed.' And with that, he turned once more to his work and dipped his quill into the inkpot industriously.

After several moments, he became aware that Groves was still in the room.

'Groves…there can surely be no more to say on the matter?'

'But _sir_, she _has _done wrong. She went back on her word…surely that is inexcusable? And - ' he continued hastily as the Commodore raised his hand to interject, '- she has hurt the pride and soul of a most respected and admired companion.'

Norrington sat in contemplative silence for several moments, then turned abruptly to a small cabinet by his desk and pulled out a crystal decanter.

'Care for a brandy, Groves?'

'Um…'

'Ah, don't worry, boy…I haven't turned to the evils of excessive drink quite yet. Now sit down and let us talk…man to man, as it were.'

Looking slightly apprehensive, Groves obliged, sinking slowly into a carved armchair, and accepting a glass of the amber liquid.

'Now then, Groves…a bit presumptuous, would you not say, to make assumptions about the state of my…ahem…pride and soul?'

'But sir…the men and I were rather of the opinion that you….had formed a deep attachment with Miss Swann.'

'Now, you listen to me very carefully, Lt. Groves…it is true that I care very much indeed for the lady in question. _However_, that affection allows me to release her from our engagement with a happy heart, for I am now assured that she will know every possible joy in her married life. For all my arrogance, I do not pretend that it would have been so had she been wedded to a dour statesman such as myself.'

'Oh, _sir_, we none of us would call you arrogant.'

'Maybe not - ' Norrington allowed himself a wry grin, '- but to a carefree, wilful young woman several years my junior, I must seem…a man of moderate emotion, compared to Mr. Turner. No, I do not begrudge them their contentment. I wish them every happiness in their life together.'

'But, Commodore Norrington…what about you?'

'What about me?'

'I thought…won't you be terribly lonely?'

'Groves…solitude has ever been a great friend of mine. I would hate to lose its companionship now. No…I confess that although I had…ah…entertained thoughts of a blissful married life…in reality Miss Swann could never have adapted herself to dull domesticity. So…I do believe I shall have to accustom myself once more to the concept of bachelorship for the foreseeable future. It is not _such _a dreadful state of affairs, after all.'

Groves stared at his superior in disbelief, searching for an appropriate response. When none came, the Commodore continued.

'Really, Groves...I _do _appreciate your concern for me…but I must remind you that I have been an officer in the Royal Navy for over a decade, and am therefore accustomed to hardship and loss. I…I confess I love Elizabeth very dearly…ah…I am afraid that is all there is to be said on the matter.'

'Yes. I apologise for my lack of propriety, sir.'

'Not at all…in fact Groves, I am truly touched by this visit. Nevertheless, I assure you I will always be the man you have known these five years. I will not allow a woman to alter my sense of duty.'

With that, he turned back to his writing desk, and began to work once more. Groves twirled his glass in his fingers idly, before rising and exiting quickly, unable to express his anxiety.

Commodore Norrington listened to him pause outside the door and trudge away. A good man, Groves. And, if he looked deep within himself, the Commodore knew his hesitant questioning was the result of shrewd observation. He had struck painfully close to the mark.

Norrington finished the report in due time, albeit with diminished relish, for his mind was tortured once more by the thought of Elizabeth, the concerned frowns of his men, the shame of having lost her to a _blacksmith_. He was too tired even to chasten his own snobbery. He signed his name with a tired air of finality, and slumped back in his chair, watching the glow of the lamp flicker unsteadily over the maps on the wall and the spines of his admirable collection of books.

So constant, he thought…he would never face betrayal, embarrassment from these stolid tomes. He knew them intimately, like a lover, and the scan of his eyes down their beloved pages was a tender caress. But at that moment, drowning in his own misery and solitude, he could not face them, his oldest friends.

He forsook the dusty words of his Bible, the mocking passion of Shakespeare, and returned to his house some four miles away, whereupon he retired glumly to bed, the blue shadows chasing across his face as he struggled into an uneasy sleep.

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AN: so…? Please be assured this is simply setting the tone, the next few chapters establish the tension between Norrington ('Norrie' to my dear sisters, who promise to feed me chocolate if I write more of this) and Elizabeth, and introduce a potential candidate for his affections. Come back soon, DD xx 


	2. Chapter 2

AN: many thanks to my reviewers so far. Et…voila, here's the next instalment! Featuring rather angsty Norrington, and much awkward situation with Elizabeth. Drop me a line if you liked it (or even if you loathed it) and wish me luck tomorrow, I'm taking the leaver's service at school and I will be sobbing, I know – dd xx

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2

It was late when Norrington awoke that Sunday morning, to the sound of breaking waves and harshly calling birds. Blinding Caribbean sunshine was streaming into his bedroom, falling across the tired figure lying amongst crumpled, sweaty sheets.

He splashed his face with cold water and regarded his reflection in the mirror. The tousled hair, the pallid skin and black bruises beneath his eyes. No, he was certainly not bearing up well. Even with his wig carefully placed on his aching head, his smart coat glistening in the morning sunlight, and his wretched sword hanging at his waist, he still looked somehow below par, not the menacing Commodore who had previously commanded the respect of all of Port Royal.

But there was little time to fret – the Governor's carriage pulled up smartly outside the house as he watched, and, straightening his hat, he sprung onto the runner board and sat down beside the Governor. His heart twisted uncomfortably as he kissed Elizabeth's gloved hand with dry lips, murmuring 'Miss Swann' with terrible awkwardness. She, too, seemed a little nervous, and avoided his eyes as they sped to church. In the cramped confines of the carriage he tried not to let his long legs brush against her skirts, and strove to engage himself in the Governor's idle chatter of a new pier in the bay.

The service was long, and hot, and Norrington felt his stifled irritation grow as he resisted the urge to swat passing, droning flies. His eyes sliding sideways, he could see Elizabeth's young skin was also covered in a glowing film of sweat, and he swallowed dryly, turning abruptly to the front of the church, frantically trying to focus on the lesson being read from St John's Gospel.

_Am I mad?_ He thought miserably, feeling a trickle of sweat run down his neck. His life, he realised, was all about pretence – pretence that it did not hurt to hand Elizabeth honourably to Will Turner, pretence that he was in fact a cold and detached officer, rather than a gentle, emotional man, who was crumbling inside.

Pretence that he was a God-fearing man upholding the rules of the Good Book, rather than thinking distinctly impure thoughts about the Governor's daughter, a woman who belonged to another. _Bordering on adultery_, he scolded himself.

Despite the press of Elizabeth's thigh against his in the small pew reserved for the nobility of Port Royal in the little church, it was with great relief that he exited the building, dropping a few coins into the collection box and greeting the vicar warmly, noting that his hands were damp too, as he clasped those of the Commodore's. Norrington felt more than a little guilty for having drifted into idle fantasies of feeding Elizabeth slices of mango on a beach somewhere during the sermon.

He was readying himself for the short walk to the fort for the weekly bulletins from Gillette and Groves, when he felt a gentle hand on his arm.

'Commodore Norrington?'

It was Elizabeth, squinting up at him, her eyes shaded from the sun by a wide-brimmed hat which made the heart shape of her face even more unbearably beautiful.

'Yes, Miss Swann?' he asked quietly, his throat feeling somehow restricted.

'I…Commodore, I…please call me Elizabeth.'

'That would hardly be proper, would it, Miss Swann?'

'Are we not friends?' her dark eyes were scanning his face, and he tried to appear as impassive as possible, though his hand was twitching to stroke her shadowed cheek.

'I did not think it possible for men and women of our position to be _friends_, Miss Swann.'

'Oh.' For a moment he fancied she looked truly hurt by his reply. 'Have we not known each other years, James?'

His name sounded so sweet rolling from her tongue…he imagined hearing her call him 'James' every night and morning for the rest of his life…or even 'Jamie', as he had been known as a boy in grey England. It was too much to bear.

'Eight years, if I am not mistaken.'

'I…I would hate to lose that friendship, Commodore.'

'You will always have it.' Something inside him cracked quietly…but the gentle, pitying smile on her angelic face reassured him he was taking the right path. At detriment to himself, as ever, but with the best result – the happiness of a most beloved woman.

'I know…it has been the most important thing in my life, James…what you did yesterday…I cannot say how much…' she seemed embarrassed and looked down demurely.

Norrington swallowed slowly, and decided to feign ignorance, as he had done with Groves the evening before. 'I am afraid I was entirely serious. As soon as the _Dauntless_ is seaworthy, I will be setting out in pursuit of Captain Sparrow.'

'No, you misunderstand me…not Jack…I meant…what you did for me…' she trailed off, confused and unable to voice her emotions, her confounded gratitude.

_I know_, he thought. He did not want to hear a word from her about his damned honour and sense of propriety and nobility. But she continued, compounding his misery.

'James…you know I cannot thank you enough for your words to Will yesterday…I am ever in your debt. And Will…he wishes to express his gratitude also.'

Norrington felt ill, and he dragged his gaze from hers and looked distractedly around the courtyard of the church, at the vast cloudless sky. 'My one object was your happiness, Miss Swann. If, by my actions, I have succeeded in that aim, then I shall be content.' He hated himself for his stiff tone, his total inability to tell her in warm, elegant words about his mad love for her, the immortal feelings he inspired in her.

'Oh, James!' he was greatly alarmed to see tears well up in her eyes, and even more so to feel her slender arms around his neck and her soft lips on his. It was a sisterly kiss, a kiss of thanks and platonic love, but he could not help his breath from hitching at the feel of her body against his, even through the stiff brocade of his jacket.

He pulled himself away from her, his face flushed with anxiety, desire and shame. 'Please…Elizabeth…don't…' To have her tempt him with something forbidden, something already pledged away to another, was akin to a knife in the breast. His composure returned almost immediately, though his heart was still racing madly and his lips still smarted with the unexpected pressure of hers.

'Miss Swann…I need…no _repayment _for my action. I repeat…to see you happy and smiling is reward enough for me.'

Her eyes were twinkling gently as she took her arms slowly from around his neck, and she smiled somewhat sadly.

'James…I know, I truly know that I have caused you deep harm. I am not _stupid._ I would…I would like you to be happy, too. If I may be frank…too frank, no doubt, but we are not strangers, are we, Commodore? I…you _know _I would not have been a good wife for you. I am not dutiful enough…I would annoy you dreadfully, wouldn't I? And…you must own I keep…less than desirable company.' She watched him closely – his blank face, with only the faintest crease of a frown between his eyes.

'Yes…yes,' he muttered distractedly. 'Please…have no concern on my part. We are both honourable people…and I have no doubt I will find ample distraction in my work to keep me contented for the rest of my life. But…Miss Swann…I do appreciate your words. I would…I would hate to lose your acquaintance. Last night…I berated myself for having lost your heart…fool that I am. I realise now that I never truly possessed it…and your esteem and regard must suffice.' Again, his true thoughts refused to spill out of him…but the look of relief and gentle joy on Elizabeth's face as he turned and walked out of the churchyard was comforting.

He simply hoped no one had seen her impulsively embracing him. The sudden end to their betrothal had caused enough idle gossip in Port Royal, without rumours of illicit affairs on a Sunday plaguing him in his despondency, too.

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AN: ah…poor old Norrington. I want him for my own so I can feed him chocolate and kiss the owie better. Erm…ok. Hope you enjoyed, the next chapter will see the arrival of Groves' family…including the replacement love interest, naturellement. I must confess, this entire plot is a bit on the predictable side, but I'm having fun writing it, so… lots of love, dd xx 


	3. Chapter 3

AN: well, that's it. I am no longer a school girl. Which is more than a little daunting. However, it does free up a _lot _of time for writing and so on (ahem…revising…) so…with much gratitude to my wonderful reviewers, who share my love of dear Norrie, here is the next chapter. I hope the lengths of these chapters are OK (just a brief thought). Come back soon, love dd xx

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3

Life went on for weeks in a state of lazy indolence. For Norrington, burying himself in administration and such arduous work to prevent thoughts of Elizabeth and her masculine garb aboard the _Dauntless, _time seemed to crawl by.

All the seasons seemed to merge into one sweltering, tropical climate in the Caribbean, and there was more than one humid day when he hid in the wine cellar of his home with a stack of paperwork, wishing he were back in London, where it _rained _and where there were pretty nameless girls to escort to the opera and to the races.

It was on one such obscenely fine day that he walked along the sea wall, his smart shoes tapping on the cobblestones. The sea to his left was a sparkling turquoise expanse enclosed by towering mountains, marred only by a few white sails scudding across leisurely.

There was a new ship pulling slowly into the harbour, a Union Jack fluttering in the pathetic breeze. A merchant ship, Norrington thought, as he watched workers line up on the shore to unload goods. At least there would be some change in society – he was more than a little sick of always meeting the future Mrs. Turner and her fiancé in the street. It made his heart jump so, and caused him to blush and stutter far too violently for a man of his composure and refinement.

He continued on his way, arriving in the harbour just as the ship docked, extending a gangplank onto the stone quayside. It was a truly magnificent ship, adorned in gold leaf and sporting a grotesque mermaid figurehead. _Trident _was written in embellished letters high on one side. The deck was crowded with hundreds of families of all classes, crates of goods and animals – handsome horses and stinking pigs. Norrington remembered his own passage over from Britain, mercifully devoid of manure in any shape or form.

Stalling the dreaded moment when he would have to meet with his Captains to discuss various technicalities in the fleet, a weekly torment which left him bored stupid, he let himself watch the finely dressed nobility descend regally onto dry land.

'Hey! Commodore Norrington!' he looked around until he saw Lt. Groves tearing with a shocking lack of dignity towards him, his hair flying behind him.

'Lt. Groves…you look a sight,' Norrington said levelly as the younger man approached, slightly out of breath.

'Yes, I know…frightfully sorry, sir…but, you see…my wife's on that ship!'

Norrington's eyes widened and he felt an awful pang of guilt that he had never even known his younger officer was married.

'Your…your wife?'

'Yes, sir…the captain of the _Trident_ sent word with a passenger list earlier today. Such a shock, you wouldn't believe, Commodore!' he seemed overcome with happiness and excitement, and it hit Norrington that this man had not seen his wife for over three years, when he had first arrived in the Caribbean with nothing but a spare pair of britches and an extraordinary skill with a musket.

'Good Lord, Groves. I _am_ happy for you…she should be disembarking shortly, then?'

'Yes.' Together the two men scanned the crowds aboard the _Trident_. It was a haze of rustling, colourful dresses, punctuated with the fashionable wigs of noblemen. Finally Groves squeaked in ill-contained excitement and pushed forward through the swarming crowd on land.

Norrington amused himself by watching several Marines struggling with a particularly reluctant pig, until Groves returned with several people in tow, his young face glowing with happiness beneath his hat. Norrington tried to disguise his curiosity, and wondered if it would be a terribly bad thing if he missed the meeting at the fort.

'Commodore Norrington…my family,' Groves said proudly, indicating a group of four females of various shapes and sizes gathered behind him shyly, clutching small bags and seemingly already wilting under the sun. Norrington bowed politely, murmuring 'a pleasure to meet you.'

He had never heard Groves talk so much before, rattling away about the journey and the lavish customs of the Caribbean. He was utterly confused and lost in the babble – he assumed the young woman holding tightly to the Lt's arm was his wife – whose name seemed to be Ellie or something similar. The girls, who (although Norrington had precious little experience with children and was in no place to judge their ages) appeared to be both younger than five years of age, were trailing behind their mother, looking around at the cosmopolitan port curiously.

The girl following quietly behind was an enigma, however. Her face was hidden by a large hat, and she seemed to be looking at her shoes rather than at the odd sights and sounds about her. Not a maid, surely, Norrington thought, puzzled. She was dressed far too well…no; she was no doubt part of the family.

As if sensing his confusion, Groves took it upon himself, ten minutes into a monologue on the merits of Port Royal, to introduce his commanding officer properly.

'Commodore, this is my wife, Elinor…Elinor Groves, Commodore James Norrington of this port, originally of London.' Elinor Groves, a tall, willowy woman, inclined her elegant head and stretched out her hand languidly for a kiss. Norrington was struck with an impression of great inner strength and poise.

'And my two daughters, Emma and Lucinda,' the Lt continued. The girls peeked out shyly from behind their mother's skirts and waved with sticky hands at the Commodore, who squatted before them and solemnly kissed their tiny hands.

He felt an idiotic little smile spread across his face as he asked the two children 'how do you do?' quietly, and heard them reply in lisping, baby voices. He realised suddenly how little he knew about children, and wondered how Groves managed to cope with fatherhood. But then again…he had not been there to be a father to his darling girls…

'My sister, Alicia,' Groves finished, stretching out an arm to guide his sister forward. Norrington bowed to her, kissing her hand, and looked up into a closed face, a face devoid of emotion.

Slightly shaken by her reclusive visage, he stepped back smartly and said 'welcome to Port Royal, Mrs. Groves, Miss Groves. And of course…these important young ladies. I'm sure Papa will be able to introduce you to some fine playmates in due course, don't worry.'

The sun was causing him to develop his customary headache, and he swiftly made his excuses and walked smartly off to the fort, where he contrived to leave the meeting as hastily as decency would allow, his mind numb with dull statistics and thoughts of a rather soggy Elizabeth in his arms on the day of his ill-fated proposal.

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AN: thoughts? Feelings? Implorations for more? (apparently, 'imploration' actually _is _a word. I thought I'd just made it up…) The next chapter brings a revelation about Groves which alters his career path somewhat. Drop in some time soon, dd xx 


	4. Chapter 4

AN: so…the plot is moving ever so slowly forwards. Read, enjoy, and write a line or two singing my praises. Or not, as the case may be…lots of love and with grateful thanks to all who have reviewed so far, dd xxx

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4

The cool evening was greatly welcome when he finally finished work and returned to his house, a ridiculously large estate for a bachelor with no particular needs and a streamlined household. It was a good building for cultivating morose thoughts of loneliness.

It was to this place, smattered with navy, bleeding shadows of palm trees, that Norrington returned on horseback, to find Lt. Groves in a state of agitation, wringing his hat in his hands in the front porch.

Dismounting deftly from his horse, and thrusting the reins into the hands of a waiting manservant, he crossed the gravel to his younger officer and guided him into the house.

'Now, Theodore,' he said more sternly than he had intended, 'what _is _the matter?'

Groves, seated in a leather armchair by the empty grate, exhaled heavily before beginning. 'Sir, I must own I am in great distress. I have received most unfortunate news. The reason for my wife's decision to move to Port Royal…bringing our children and my sister…I regret, sir, that my father died nigh on six months ago.'

At this, Norrington, berating himself for his earlier severity, rose rapidly and poured a brandy for the shaken young man. 'Dear God, Groves,' he said, handing him the glass and touching his shoulder lightly, 'I am deeply sorry. Why did your wife not tell you earlier?'

The younger man was momentarily silent. 'I suppose…she did not want my reaction to be public. I cannot blame Elinor…she was most kind in breaking this sad news.'

'Yes, indeed. A good decision, I must own.'

The two sat in silence, with only a few candle-lights, hastily brought by the servants to light the huge room, flickering here and there.

'Listen, Groves…you really must have some leave. Please, take as much time as you like…with your family. I know…this must indeed be hard to deal with, so much joy and disaster in one day.'

'Thank you, sir…thank you so much. But…I am afraid…there was some more news.'

'Oh?' Norrington paused from sipping his own brandy and looked shrewdly at Groves. Something in the other man's voice was cautiously ominous.

'Yes, Commodore. I had no idea, I swear…I…it has come to my attention that my father, John Groves…left me a considerable amount of money in his will…the assets of the entire estate…a yearly sum of around ten thousand pounds.'

'Good God, man! Ten thousand? Why, in England you would be among the richest of men…in Port Royal…you will live like a king, Lt.'

'Exactly. That's precisely what I'm scared of, sir. How am I…well, Commodore…I feel I must decide. I must choose between this ample fortune, and a life in the Royal Navy.'

Norrington felt his heart sink. Groves was a respected and committed officer…he fancied he had been something like that in his own tempestuous youth. It would be a bad blow to lose his companionship.

'But of course, Groves. There is no decision to be made. You can provide handsomely for your young family, no question about it. Who would begrudge you the opportunity to make a wonderful new life for yourself on land?'

'But…'

'Groves.' Norrington held up a hand in protest. 'If this is another of your guilty concerns for the state of my heart…I can assure you that I will struggle on without you, somehow. I mean no offence, for I truly will miss you. But believe me, Theodore, I would not have you parted from your wife now, to travel the high seas with an old dog like me, and to die miserably of scurvy instead of in bed, of old age, with your finely dressed grandchildren around you waiting to squabble over the inheritance.'

Groves looked awed and doubtful. 'Sir…I don't know if I _can_ do anything but be in the Navy.'

'Nonsense! Of course you can. It is not so difficult, after all, to sit around being fed grapes and so on. You might buy a plantation, you know…that would keep you more than occupied in your wealthy stupor.'

'Erm…but, sir…'

'Groves. Look at me. I have grown to rely very heavily upon your friendship these three years past, and I hope you realise that. But that friendship extends only to my personal affairs…the loss of Miss Swann, comforting me when I lost my brother, the weekly trips to the tavern. Onboard the _Dauntless_, as you no doubt realise, you are simply another officer in a wig to follow orders and to delegate. You will be replaced only in my force of men. On land we will be as we have always been…very good friends. Would you agree?'

Groves seemed heartily embarrassed at being spoken to so candidly by his superior, but nodded through his blushes. 'Yes, sir. I would like that very much.'

'Very well,' Norrington concluded, rising once more. 'I shall expect your resignation within a few months, once you have concluded your affairs in the Navy and found a suitable situation in which to live out the remainder of your days. Yes?'

'Yes,' Groves agreed in relief. It was clear that it had been the potential wrath of the Commodore rather than the death of his distant father which had preyed most heavily on the mind of the young man standing worried in the porch.

Norrington's maid showed Groves out, and the Commodore watched him walk down the hill into the enticing lights of Port Royal. He wondered where he and his wife were staying that night. It would be an emotional reunion, no doubt. He turned away from the window in disgust. That he resorted to living through another in such a way, imagining such things, simply because, as he had for the past thirty-four years, he was trudging up to a lonely bed.

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AN: awww…call on me, Norrie, we can fix that lonely-bed state of affairs. Erm…anyway, moving on…the next chapter, should you wish to read it, takes place in a pub, where the gang are planning a picnic. Rebels that they are…dd xx 


	5. Chapter 5

AN: this is a ridiculously short chapter, for which I apologise. However, I _am _currently writing chapter 30….so all in all its quite a lengthy affair. Hope that pleases ye…enjoy, and come back soon, because I love to feel appreciated…dd xx this bit's especially for Rosalyn Lavoisier, whose reviews make me grin from ear to ear…

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5

Despite his best efforts, news of Lt. Groves' newfound fortune soon found its way around the bored midshipmen stationed in sticky Port Royal, and he found himself the subject of much teasing in subsequent weeks.

Still slightly at a loss, he continued to work as hard as ever on board the _Dauntless _and on shore, where Norrington watched his unswerving devotion to His Majesty with pride and fait regret. He would miss him greatly.

Groves temporarily took a suite of rooms in a modest inn, the _Royal Oak, _a little way out of the ordinary bustle of the port, but Norrington knew that he would soon be looking for a much larger residence in the lush hills surrounding Port Royal. The young Lt. seemed to have cottoned on to the idea of a plantation with great enthusiasm, and had been seen on several occasions riding out with his wife into the countryside to look at suitable properties.

His sister and daughters were never seen on these reconnaissance trips, and indeed were rarely seen outside the inn at all. This was understandable in the young girls, who were happy, as Groves reported over several glasses of whisky one evening, to play with their coloured bricks and listen to their father's tales of brigands and rum-smugglers until the cows came home. However, his sister, as he explained with a long-suffering sigh, was being decidedly stubborn.

'It's most unlike her, Commodore,' he said with an air of hopeless despair. 'She was so vivacious in England…a most well-thought of young woman in our social circles.'

The officers gathered in their customary haunt, the _King's Arms_, nodded in sympathy. They, too, were anxious to see the young Miss Groves out in society.

'Well, Groves.' Norrington sipped his whisky thoughtfully. 'You must admit it is a dreadful strain on your poor sister. Losing her father…travelling so far away from home…I must say, I admire her greatly.'

Groves pulled a face. 'It's downright embarrassing, that's what it is, sir. You'd think a young woman of twenty-one, in a new country, would be happy to accompany her brother around town, to see the sights and so on. But she won't hear a word of it.'

A round-faced Lt., Richard Driscoll, had his offer to take the young lady in question sight-seeing himself thoroughly squashed amid howls of derision and outrage.

'I'm quite inclined to agree with Miss Groves, Theodore,' Gillette chimed in. 'Were I a stranger to Port Royal, I can think of far better ways to entertain myself than to wander through the brothels and markets of this squalid town. I'm sure her rooms are far more suitable surroundings for a delicate young lady used to balls and high-class gatherings.'

'You know, Gillette,' Norrington said with a hint of amusement in his voice, 'much as your confounded snobbishness perplexes me, I must concur. I do not blame Miss Groves for her reluctance to venture onto our streets.'

Groves looked rather miserable.

'Perhaps a picnic, Groves! To welcome your dear sister into our company…or better still, we can stretch the _Dauntless' _legs a little – what say you to a trip to Santa Maria Friday next? We can show your sister what a wonderful place the Caribbean is!'

There was a murmur of excitement among the younger officers. The carefree days of excursions to the nearby island were the stuff of distant memory, since the arrival of smugglers and pirates in the waters. More than one of their number, however, were somewhat perplexed by the renewed enthusiasm which seemed to have gripped their stoic commanding officer, having witnessed his despondent pessimism in recent weeks.

'A marvellous idea, Commodore Norrington!' Gillette exclaimed excitedly.

Norrington smiled indulgently.

And so it was settled. The crew of the _Dauntless _were offered a rare holiday, an excursion to the lush, unspoiled paradise of Santa Maria, and Norrington swiftly found his thoughts occupied by nothing else. In truth, he could not remember the last time he had taken a holiday. He supposed, had things worked out differently with Elizabeth, that he might well have treated himself to a long weekend somewhere…even warmer, with his new wife.

_But, as we know, _he thought with a quick frown, _events turned out to the contrary._

However, he was perfectly content to lay aside his sextants and compasses and maps and compile idle lists of sandwich fillings and teams for beach bowls during the long, bright days. _Perhaps strawberries and cream afterwards, _he wondered. And then he was back in the usual reminiscences of garden parties at the Governor's house and Elizabeth's achingly sweet smile as he wiped a little smudge of cream from her lip, with his sleeve. He scowled again.

The rest of the company were far less preoccupied with recent romantic failures, and much more concerned with the highly anticipated excursion. There had been wild rumours of barbecues and swimming competitions in the turquoise lagoons, and even the straight-laced Gillette purported to be looking forward to the break.

* * *

AN: that's all, folks! Next chapter is a rather heated exchange between Mr and Mrs Groves, whose views are divided over the merits of the picnic. All good wholesome fun, I assure you! dd xx 


	6. Chapter 6

6

Groves, meanwhile, was having rather mixed fortune persuading his sister to accompany him on the outing. His wife, Elinor, was hardly helping matters.

'Really, Theodore, it would be _most _improper.'

'Oh, would it, Elinor? And who, pray, are _you _to dictate the rules of society?"

'Theodore Groves! I have never had the misfortune of meeting a man with such a…completely lacking sense of social behaviour. I declare…'she tailed off in disbelief. It was clear that this argument had been continuing for some time.

'Ellie…it's a _picnic._ The men are taking their wives, some are escorting young ladies, and a jolly time will be had by all. And besides, I'm sure Alicia would like to see the _Dauntless, _wouldn't you, sister?'

'Might I remind you,' came the cool reply from the corner, 'that I just spent four months on a ship.'

'Oh, but _Alicia! _The _Dauntless _is more than a ship, oh…much more…it is a palace on the water.'

'Indeed?'

'And besides, Commodore Norrington will be there to oversee events…to ensure there is under no circumstances a contravention of social propriety. Will that satisfy you, Ellie?' He rolled his eyes at his wife in frustration.

'I can hardly say, sir. Alicia must decide for herself whether she wishes to visit Santa Maria. I must say, I can hardly see it being worth her while. She has no lady friends to accompany her and walk with her along the beach.'

'She can walk with me.'

At this, Alicia herself spoke from her composed situation in the bay window. 'I own the island must be preferable to this boiling-pot of immorality.'

Groves refrained with difficulty from throttling his annoyingly pious little sister. 'Alicia, I do think you are being most ungrateful. The whole venture has been organised for you alone, to welcome you to the Port, and introduce you to some fine new friends.'

Elinor's eyes narrowed rapidly. 'Ah! I _knew _it! I just _knew _the moment she arrived onshore they would be crowding around like vultures. My God, Theodore, and I thought you above such schemes. Just tell me…which of those undeserving villains proposed this ill-disguised orgy? I'll warrant that Gillette…he has a devilish shifty look about his eyes…'

'Actually, it was the Commodore.' Groves looked mildly satisfied with the stir he had caused by this last statement, and retrieving his hat from the top of the wardrobe where it was stashed away from the destructive hands of the girls, he made his hasty exit.

He was barely on the narrow stairs, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

'Brother, please wait.' Alicia looked more than flustered, and Groves waited for her to finish chewing her lip and twisting her hands. 'Are you…are you certain, brother? The…the Commodore proposed the picnic on Santa Maria?'

'It is the Gospel truth, my sister.'

'In which case…I…I cannot surely refuse to attend.'

'Oh, don't talk rubbish, Alicia. James…the Commodore would not wish you to attend against your will.'

Miss Groves looked distractedly at the floor. 'No…no…it would be my pleasure to join the party. I…please thank the Commodore for his kind invitation.'

Groves smiled in internal satisfaction. 'I will be certain to pass on that message. And, Alicia…?' he waited as his sister nodded almost imperceptibly, '…thank you. The picnic will be a grand affair.'

He left the inn with a smile on his face that he could not quite explain, and walked leisurely along the front to the fort, observing the glint of the sun on the ruffled sea.

Knocking on his superior's door, he entered, to find the Commodore with his shirt partially undone, his wig informally atop the globe in the corner, with his feet on the table, humming tunelessly and perusing a piece of paper.

Barely looking up, the relaxed Commodore scratched his chin with his quill. 'What would you say, Groves? Would ten parasols suffice? The big ones, you know…'

Groves' eyes widened in utter incomprehension. 'I…I really couldn't say, sir.'

Norrington galvanised into action, springing like a boy of eighteen from his chair and greeting his Lt. with a warm handshake. 'It's most perplexing, Groves. Will the ladies be requiring chairs? Or rugs? Good God…it's a tactical nightmare, organising a picnic!'

Groves blinked. 'Well, sir,' he began, finding some secure, sane ground on which to stand. 'I was passing by to tell you…Miss Groves asks me to pass on her compliments, and would be delighted to accompany us.'

Norrington's face lit up at this statement, and he clapped the lucky brother on the back.

'Excellent news, Lt.! Absolutely first-rate!'

'Well, sir, it's about time, is all I can say. She seemed to perk up considerably when I told her the entire venture was your idea.'

Norrington raised his eyebrows slightly at this news. 'Ah, well…what dutiful man would not do the same for his friend's family? After all –'

There was a sharp knock at the door, and both men looked curiously to ascertain the source of this disturbance. It was a young servant dressed rather precociously in the livery of the Swann household.

'Please, sir…I'm to deliver this to you.' It was a stiff cream-coloured envelope addressed to 'Commodore J. Norrington' in embellished script.

After dismissing the boy, Norrington perched on the edge of the desk to slit it open. Groves likewise relaxed in his customary chair.

'Ah.' The Commodore's voice was rather strained, and some of his usual stiff formality re-entered his posture.The room suddenly felt rather cold in comparison to the pressing heat of the day.

'Sir?'

'It seems, Lt.,' Norrington said, slowly and carefully, 'that I will be unfortunately unable to accompany you to Santa Maria, after all. I have…been invited to a party at the Swann household.'

'Oh, sir, can't you decline the invitation?'

Norrington's face seemed extraordinarily pale in the gloomy room. 'I fear not, Theodore. A matter of pride…I…I wonder, could we perhaps rearrange the outing? Ah…it is no matter. I will see to it.' The Commodore seemed suddenly closed and introvert, and Groves took this as an unspoken dismissal.

He left the room hastily, a creeping feeling of annoyance within him.

* * *

AN: next time; Norrington is more than a little pissed off, as we learn exactly what sort of party he's been invited to. Sending you my best regards, dd xxx 


	7. Chapter 7

7

Norrington, for the first time, was happy to see Theodore Groves leave his office.

He looked at the crisp invitation several times more, turning the paper over and over in his hands as though it might be a clever hoax.

But no…there was no doubt. The one social event he had been anticipating with real relish, the one chance for him to escape the pressures of military duty and romantic disappointment, was to be cancelled for the sake of the most dreaded occasion he could imagine.

_Governor W. Swann cordially invites Commodore J. Norrington to celebrate the engagement of his daughter Elizabeth to Mr. W. Turner of Port Royal. _

Norrington read those words again, feeling each word drop like lead in his stomach. He suddenly felt ridiculous, in his dishevelled state, without his wig, without his decorum. It really was too unkind, to throw such things in his face. True, the Governor had written 'I will understand completely if you decline this invitation' in his customary flowery hand beneath the printed words. But the Commodore knew precisely what was expected of him, and was unwilling to avoid this horrid necessity.

She would be there…radiant, no doubt, glowing with young love. She would welcome him as an old friend, and he would read pathetic gratitude in the eyes of the young man next to her, as he handed over some vacuous gift of cut glass or writing paper.

He closed his eyes and imagined impossible situations, where Elizabeth brought a flute of champagne out to him in his solitude on the balcony and lifted the glass to his trembling lips. He imagined the sunset streaking red and gold over two figures standing peaceful in a still embrace. And Will Turner at the bottom of the ocean.

Again, his blasted rationality shook him back to reality.

It had been foolish of him even to imagine a day of relief, of mad, unfettered happiness. Had this…undesirably duty not arisen, some illness among the staff, or an untimely storm, or the sheer volume of administrational work would have forced him out of the venture. He knew this. He knew he was not destined to be a man of leisure – he was a working man…this was the definition and nature of his life, and he had been supremely silly to suppose that would change.

And yet he had been looking forward to the picnic with unbridled glee. He was sick of dreaming miserably of Elizabeth, a woman firmly committed to his past now, and been subconsciously searching for a clean break, something completely unrelated to Miss Swann and her devilishly low necklines.

That was all…he was looking forward to a picnic with his friends, where pirates and petty thieves would be miles from his mind, but he could not shake the sudden leap of his heart when Groves had announced that his sister would be coming.

He sat down heavily in his chair, drumming his fingers on the carved arm. Outside the dazzlingly bright day had faded into an overcast murkiness.

The Commodore was more than baffled by his strange reaction to Groves' news, and wondered whether his disappointment might be just as much to do with the sacrifice of Miss Groves' excursion, as with the future torture he would have to endure at the Governor's house.

Being in little humour to ride hard back to his abode, he allowed his horse to plod along slowly, and Norrington felt the first bulbous drops of rain spatter his jacket.

He had barely spoken to Miss Groves. Why, then, that his joy was somehow, suddenly complete on hearing that she wished to join the party? Norrington was rather bemused…the emotion he felt for Elizabeth, the overwhelming feeling of inferiority every time he was near her…surely it could not be so easily forgotten and overcome?

The house was in virtual darkness when he rode into the forecourt, drenched to the skin by the relentless tropical storm. Stopping only to stable his mount, he went to his study, still in his sodden clothes and shivering slightly.

After much silent pondering, and frantic pacing before the empty grate, he sat down and wrote two carefully-worded and immaculately presented letters.

_Dear Governor,_

_I would, of course, be delighted to attend Miss Swann's engagement party. Without wishing to offend, I wish to reassure you that my words to Mr Turner several weeks ago were absolute in their sincerity, and I am more than happy to share in their happiness by coming to the official betrothal. Please communicate my regards to Miss Swann for her continued health and happiness until we meet again._

_J Norrington_

_Dear Miss Groves,_

_I trust your esteemed brother will by this time have communicated to you the sad news – I regret I must confirm the cancellation of our picnic on Santa Maria Friday next. Sadly for our party, I have been asked to the engagement of Miss Elizabeth Swann to Mr William Turner, the blacksmith's apprentice, and I was scarcely able to decline the invitation to share in the happiness of a great friend .However, I need hardly own that it is simultaneously a source of great disappointment to myself, as I was certainly anticipating the opportunity to show you the natural beauty of your new home. Please, madam, do not concern yourself unduly with this unfortunate occurrence, as I endeavour as you read to arrange a more suitable time for our outing. I trust you are settling well into your new surroundings, and I will contact you again if you are still amenable to joining our party when the picnic is rearranged._

_I remain, madam,_

_James Norrington._

Norrington leant back in his chair and regarded these two correspondences. The first he sealed with little ado, but the second sat upon his desk for several long minutes while the writer scrutinised the words. His pomposity irked him greatly, and he groaned inwardly to imagine Miss Groves' response on reading such a haughty letter, but his eyes were already beginning to droop with exhaustion, and he hurriedly sealed the letter and left it in the hall for the housekeeper to attend to.

_It is no matter what she thinks, anyway, _he thought stubbornly as he mounted the stairs wearily.


	8. Chapter 8

8

The weather had cleared considerably by the next morning, when the Commodore's letter was delivered to the _Royal Oak, _and received not without a significant spark of interest in the heart of the addressee.

Already aware that the picnic had regrettably been postponed, Miss Groves skimmed the bulk of the letter, marking the phrases '_I was certainly anticipating the opportunity to show you the natural beauty of your new home' _and _ 'I endeavour as you read to arrange a more suitable time for our outing' _mentally.

She was still in bed, attired in a satin bed-jacket, sipping her daily cup of tea, when her brother entered the room, curious to read her mail.

'Do I not have the right to private correspondence, brother?' she inquired with one eyebrow arched.

'You would not deny me, Alicia? I act in your best interests, I assure you…he's a dangerous man, our Commodore Norrington. God only knows what underhand schemes he has afoot.' Groves, a half-eaten slice of pineapple in his hand, looked at his sister in mock disapproval.

'Aye, dangerous…I fear for my life, dearest Theodore.' Miss Groves laughed gently, and Groves was suddenly aware of what an unusual sound it was, so foreign to his ears. He smiled to hear it.

'I do but jest, I assure you, Alicia. The Commodore is the finest man I know. Whatever he has to say to you, I'm sure he will have no objection to my reading it.'

'Dear brother, you are possibly the most unsubtle, tactless matchmaker I have ever encountered. Please go and finish your breakfast and leave me to read my love-letters in peace.'

Groves laughed, perching on the windowsill in the new sunshine. 'Love-letters, eh, Alicia? The Commodore wouldn't know a love-letter if it hit him between the eyes! Now, let me see…' he stretched out his hand and took the proffered letter.

Letting his eyes scan the page, he blinked once or twice in surprise, and set the letter down on the bureau. So…the reason for the Commodore's sudden change in mood the previous evening was explained. He felt a possessive feeling of hurt rise up on behalf of his friend.

That the Governor, aware as he was of the broken relationship between his daughter and Norrington, should be so callous as to throw the Commodore's failure in his face in such a public manner. Groves knew his commanding officer would feel honour-bound to accept the abhorrent invitation, feeling it would show bad grace should he escort another woman through the jungles of Santa Maria the same day.

Miss Groves, sipping at her tea, regarded her brother as he stared out of the window onto the street outside, already busying with the pedestrian traffic of the morning. A faint frown had appeared between his eyes, and she lowered her cup to speak.

'Theodore, whatever is the matter? Commodore Norrington's letter was satisfactory, was it not? The picnic will still take place, I have no doubt.'

'Yes, yes…' Groves turned distractedly from the window and picked up the letter again in stubborn disbelief.

'Theodore…you would not wish him to forego the engagement of his dear friend simply to play bowls on a beach and eat barbecued pork, would you? I am pleased he has received an invitation.'

Groves snorted in contempt. 'Dear friend? Dear friend indeed. If my friends behaved as James' do, I should have taken my own life long ago.' He turned back to the window, folding his arms violently across him and presenting a frightening figure to his puzzled sister.

'But surely…Theodore, what has Mr Turner done to offend his friend, then?'

Groves raised his eyebrows. 'Mr Turner? William Turner is no friend of the Commodore's. Their paths have barely crossed…Norrington is a gentleman, Alicia, and as such unlikely to mix with blacksmiths and their sort.'

'Don't be a prig, Theodore,' Miss Groves said coldly, pulling her bed jacket closer about her shoulders. 'His "dear friend" is then Miss Swann?'

'Yes. Miss Elizabeth Swann. And a great friendship she has offered our Commodore, indeed.' Groves scowled in dislike.

'Sarcasm does not become you, brother. I wish to know the reason for this confounded secrecy. The Commodore seems…most complimentary about Miss Swann.'

'Yes, more fool he. He cannot see that she is a heartless, treacherous devil-woman with little comprehension of men and their world. To choose _Will Turner _over a man such as the Commodore…a man with so much affection and love for her…to choose a common blacksmith barely out of school instead. She shows poor judgement and a hard heart, Alicia.'

Miss Groves sat in utter shock, her teacup halfway to her mouth. 'Am I to understand…that Commodore Norrington…had an attachment with Miss Swann?'

'It lasted all of two days.' Groves frowned again and threw the letter back on the table. 'She is capricious and whimsical. The Commodore is no doubt better without such a woman as a wife.'

Miss Groves was silent for several minutes. She was torn in several directions – a mad wish to defend the Commodore, and damn this unknown woman for using him so abominably, a scepticism at the accuracy of her brother's impassioned speech, a light-headed happiness to hear that there was no longer a link between Norrington and the eligible Miss Swann, and an utter confusion as to why on earth she should care.

Groves was also silent, watching his stunned sister. He was not ignorant of the fact that his unmarried sister would be more than an ideal match for his friend, and looked closely to observe any evidence of partiality on Miss Groves' part. She, however, remained pensively impassive, and the two siblings continued in tense silence as the sun rose ever higher.

Groves was anxiously contemplating how he might ascertain the level of his sister's regard for Norrington without betraying his intent, when a knock on the door proclaimed the arrival of Elinor Groves, bearing a familiar-looking letter.

'Theodore, I hope you realise it is nigh on ten o'clock, and the _St Brunnhilde _is docking today, so there will be great commotion at the dock. Does not the Commodore need your assistance?' she chided, passing over the thick envelope.

'Not that I am aware, no, Ellie,' replied her husband, deftly breaking the seal and reading the contents, feeling his heart sink.

'Well?' Elinor asked curtly. 'An invitation, is it?'

'Indeed. Friday next. It seems we have been cordially invited to Miss Elizabeth Swann's betrothal.' Groves' voice was full of bitterness and dismay at this turn of events.

'We all?' was Elinor's next question.

'So it would seem. I suspect James suggested this, he is always inviting me to some high-class gathering or other. Most unnecessary, I must say. Anyhow…I must own I am disinclined to attend this party.' Groves folded the letter resolutely, and challenged his wife with a defiant tilt of his chin to contest his decision.

'Do not be _ridiculous_, Theodore,' Elinor said equally ferociously. 'It will be a wonderful introduction to good Port Royal society, and I have no doubt Alicia will be very anxious to attend such an affair. A party, at the Governor's house! Just fancy!'

Miss Groves, if she felt such an eager anticipation, deigned to show it, but simply placed her teacup on her saucer composedly. Elinor Groves, however, took this as an affirmative answer, and began bombarding the younger woman with reports on the latest fashions, and the necessity of impeccable etiquette at such soirees.

Groves realised, resignedly, that he was completely vanquished, and slipped away to commiserate with Norrington.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: heylo! Very glad everyone's liking this so far, cos I'm having a whale of a time writing it. instead of revising road signs for my driving theory test. Aw, shucks…anyhoo…the Commodore is a right party pooper in this chapter (personally I'd _love _to go to one of those balls like in Jane Austen books where they _all _know every single dance move) but you can't blame him, can you? Poor, poor Norrie…dd xxx

* * *

9

James Norrington stood before his mirror, miserably rearranging his collar, and tweaking the hated wig, fabricating ludicrous excuses which he could use to avoid the evening's party.

Not for the first time, he cursed Captain Jack Sparrow, though perhaps in slightly unusual terms. If only the infernal brigand would surface with his dastardly crew, and coerce the Commodore into giving chase.

Looking out of his bedroom, Norrington could see that the bay in Port Royal remained stubbornly devoid of pirates to pursue, and he resigned himself, not without bad grace, to an evening of watching Will Turner put his hand protectively on the small of Elizabeth's back, and of avoiding crazed females infected with the lust weddings and betrothals brings.

He felt naked out of his customary naval uniform, and looked sceptically at his reflection in the mirror, picking bad-temperedly at the gold stitching down his front. He wasn't at all sure cream suited him. Much less rose, which was the dubious shade Groves assured him was perfect for his waistcoat.

Dusk was falling rapidly, compelling Norrington finally to straighten the tie in his hair one last time, and call the carriage.

He sat in brooding silence and trepidation throughout the short ride, and sunk further into a bad temper as the jovial lights of the Governor's house drew nearer, and the gay shouts of many voices pervaded his self-imposed melancholy.

The doors opened as the carriage scrunched through the gravel, spilling bright lights into the darkening night. Norrington glimpsed the expected maelstrom of dresses, wigs and champagne glasses as he alighted from the carriage and adjusted his composure to his usual public haughtiness.

A deep breath, and he was inside the familiar lobby, gazing serenely on the excited mass without outward sign of uncertainty or discomfort.

But there was only a brief pause before Elizabeth was sweeping towards him, resplendent in a cascading dress of blue and gold, with her glorious, wonderful smile advancing swiftly towards him.

'James!' she exclaimed in what seemed to Norrington to be sheer sincere joy, and he could not help but smile back at her as he kissed her hand formally.

'Miss Swann. You look…well.' Norrington grimaced inwardly at his inferior turn of phrase, but concluded that it would hardly be proper to tell the hostess that she looked 'simply ravishable', a phrase his wayward brain was screaming.

She smiled again, a little awkwardly this time, and said with a brittle edge to her voice, 'we are so pleased you could be here tonight.'

_We_. In the pleasure her smile afforded the Commodore, he had almost managed to forget the bare, undesirable facts of the evening. He felt the familiar tightness settle in his chest that occurred each time he thought of her hair flying free about her face as she said 'you are a fine man, James.' So long ago, now, that idle, useless exchange aboard the _Dauntless_.

Sure enough, as they gazed at each other, and looked away in mutual embarrassment, Will Turner approached the pair.

'Commodore Norrington,' he said warmly, shaking the Commodore's reluctant hand. 'So pleased you could make it.'

'I would not have missed it for the world,' Norrington lied smoothly. He felt the champagne calling to him, as he watched Turner place a gentle hand on Elizabeth's exposed wrist, and he excused himself swiftly, his face reddening with humiliation and misery.

_Times like this I know this is love_, he thought despondently, as he picked up a fragile champagne flute and sipped at it a little too hastily.

The room, although large, was warm, with groups of excitable young officers and sculpted ladies pressing on each other, sparkling in the light of chandeliers and huge mirrors.

Norrington moved slowly, indifferently from group to giggling group, exchanging pleasantries with officers who treated him with distant respect and made it clear that he was not welcome in the circle, and stifling his contempt at the inane gossip flowing in these cliques.

He fancied he felt more than one pair of curious eyes on his stiff back, and was almost certain he had heard his name mentioned in a hushed, excited whisper. When he whipped round to hear more of the scandalous chitchat, the speakers hurriedly held their tongues and switched to that most universal of subjects, the weather.

_As though there is any variation in the Caribbean_, the Commodore thought with a sneer.

His champagne was half-gone when the Governor, with his magnificent wig billowing over his shoulders, proposed the customary toast. Norrington searched frantically for an exit, but was confined by happy well wishers and was forced to endure endless, painful pledges for the future happiness of the pair, and professions of a father's humble pride.

Norrington closed his eyes reverently as he imagined the same situation, but with a very different figure standing next to Elizabeth, looking into her worldly eyes, pledging a lifetime of dedication and unconditional love solemnly. He knew he would do it at a moment's notice, were he to be asked. Permitted.

He raised his glass with the rest of the glittering company, and drank slowly, his eyes looking at anything but the couple in the centre of the room, accepting kisses of congratulation and affection, and looking so wonderfully at peace together.

The clock on the mantel showed it to be only nine o'clock, and Norrington cursed Time for dragging his heels so teasingly.

It was presently his inescapable turn to offer his best wishes to the bride and groom to be, and it was all he could do not to recall the exchange with Elizabeth over a month ago, and to remember the gentle, unexpected press of her lips against his.

'Miss Swann, Mr Turner,' he began in his most pompous, detached Commodore voice, 'please accept my very best wishes for your life together. I…' he found he could lie no longer, could no longer look at Elizabeth in her immortal beauty and still pretend that he was the dignified loser. He kissed her hand chastely and melted back into the crowd, plagued by the little glint of hurt and concern in her eyes as he looked up at her from his bow.

_A quiet corner_, he thought frantically. A small refuge away from the boisterous commotion, where he could gather his scrambled thoughts and hold his aching head. The lights were far too bright, and the women were far too polished, and Elizabeth was far too beautiful for him ever to forget her.

To his extreme horror and alarm, a string quartet he had previously overlooked struck up a lively minuet, and his eyes darted in terror around the room for any exit, even a window, through which he could escape the indignity of dancing.

Perhaps by turning to face the wall, he might avoid the eyes of predatory young women, all of whom were scanning the company for suitable partners. His heart began to beat wildly, and out of the corner of his vision he saw the magnificent blue dress whirl around and around in Will Turner's confident hold.

_Misery, misery_.

'Commodore?'

Norrington cringed as he looked round, and started with a sudden sensation of relief and happiness. Lieutenant Groves, looking likewise uncomfortable in civilian dress, was beaming at him in mutual dislike of the dancing and the prowling packs of women.

Next to him, her eyes as ever cast demurely to the ground, stood Miss Alicia Groves.

And with an unexpected jolt of realisation, Norrington appreciated that, one day, it was conceivable that he might forget Elizabeth Swann, after all.

* * *

AN: I also react in this way to alcohol…I become melancholy and maudlin and think things like '_misery, misery._' Dear me, emo!Norrington. Ta ta for now, as they say, dd xx 


	10. Chapter 10

AN: bit slow updating, sorry…went to sunny Wales for the weekend. My family sat on me to stop me watching the football. Bit militaristically nationalist, they are…anyway, here we go, more morose Norrie, as promised…dd xx

* * *

10

'Will you not ask my sister to dance, Commodore?' Groves inquired politely, to break the somewhat awkward silence. 'We have only just arrived, and Alicia has not yet been introduced to any of these young men.'

Norrington blushed at his own rudeness, and obliged with a stuttered, bashful invitation. Miss Groves inclined her head slowly, still not meeting his eyes.

'I do apologise, Miss Groves,' Norrington said as he escorted her to the floor. 'I am a very inferior dancer. I confess there is little opportunity for such elegant pursuits on board the _Dauntless_.'

He was amazed to hear her laugh quietly at his pathetic attempt at humour. He was suddenly reminded that he was yet to hear her utter a single word, and resolved to engage her in such conversation as was within his capacity, not being of the most forward disposition himself.

As they twirled in the intricate steps of the dance, Norrington took the opportunity to observe his partner more closely.

'Well, then, Miss Groves, I trust this party is a more than adequate replacement for our doomed picnic?'

Miss Groves smiled briefly. 'I regret, no, Commodore. I am no great enjoyer of dancing and drinking.' Her voice was light and feminine, and Norrington felt his heart leap at the sound of it.

'That is truly sad to hear,' he replied, touching his palms to hers as the two sets interacted. 'Please be assured I am currently searching for a suitable date.'

'Thank you.' Her mouth twitched again into a half-smile, before her lovely head bent once more into submissive silence, and Norrington dared not address her further in her guarded state.

He was not, however, opposed to observing the swan-like curve of her pale neck, and the dark wisps of soft hair at the nape, escaping from her elaborate bun. Her understated plum dress suited her very well, he decided, contrasting perfectly the alabaster flawlessness of her shoulders and hands.

It was only when the minuet reached its climax, and he found himself at the opposite end of the set, with his palms suddenly touching Elizabeth's, that he realised he had been focussed upon a very different woman for minutes while the supposed object of his love was only metres away.

It was rather a shock to him to realise that there might be women other than Elizabeth who caught his bachelor's eye, having spent so many years and wasted nights dreaming of her and her enchanted smile. And, indeed, once he dared to look sideways at her, and caught the line of determined concentration setting her delicate jaw, he was painfully reminded of the love that had thus far defined his life.

Elizabeth turned to him, and smiled, as the dance flowed back to the original couples, and Norrington felt a flustered sense of relief to hear the quartet finally play a ridiculously protracted perfect cadence, signalling the end of the dance.

He bowed stiffly to Miss Groves, and escorted her by the hand back to where her brother stood, in conversation with some red-faced drunken nobleman Norrington had never seen before. Miss Groves raised her head a degree or so to smile her gentle gratitude for the dance, and Norrington felt this might be the right time for a refreshing walk in the night-drenched gardens. Alone. Without any confounded woman to distract, hinder or otherwise confuse him.

The night air was surprisingly cold when he stepped out of the melee into the solitude of the garden, down an impressive set of marble steps, flanked by ghostly urns and trailing plants which looked a hundred times more frightening and grotesque in the dark. Nevertheless he relished the cool air on his skin and the hint of a sea breeze cooling the film of sweat on his brow. _That vile wig, _he thought grumpily.

The Governor's house was set high on a hill above Port Royal, and even under the cover of darkness, Norrington could see the bay laid out below his current vantage point – the glassy sea in the distance, the outline of a hundred crooked streets populated with crooked, devious people, in their little houses, with their tiny candle lights to guide weary travellers into that hellhole.

Norrington paced for several minutes in the dark, up and down the stone terrace, before sitting heavily on the step and watching night birds flit across the clouded moon. His treacherous mind was spinning with illicit images – the hopeless thoughts he could not help but entertain – one little dance with Elizabeth, in a universe where drunken statesmen and giggling women, and Will Turner did not exist.

He could see it now, a huge glittering ballroom worthy of Versailles, and the two of them dwarfed by huge carved, gilt panels. He would be able to dance…confidently, effortlessly, with sanguine aplomb. And she would be gazing into his eyes, and promising, _promising._

It was a typical fantasy, and he refused to let his mind spiral too far out of control. It was too hard, too utterly devastating to drag himself back to the harsh reality of his remote life.

He wondered, amid the cacophony of chittering crickets, whether Miss Groves had thought his dancing satisfactory. She was certainly a lovely young woman, but so vastly different to Elizabeth. She seemed to have no individual spark of fire that would lead her to rebel, or laugh with complete abandon, or run away and marry a blacksmith.

Norrington sat motionless for several more minutes, contemplating the tinkling blessing of Miss Groves' feminine laugh, and the jerk around his navel when he found himself face to face with Elizabeth's superior visage.

_Not quite saved, then_, he thought bitterly, feeling his skin pucker with goose bumps in the cold air.

'James?' his heart sank at the familiar female voice, and he deigned to look around. One less moment tormented by her beauty would lessen the blow.

He felt her sink down next to him and look out with him over the settlement.

'Why are you out here, sir?'

'I was too warm in the room.'

'Ah. I see.' There was a silence, but it was not awkward, somehow. It was simply a pause, while each considered the other and contemplated conversation and their shifting relationship.

'And…you hate dancing, if I am not mistaken?'

'I own it is not among my favourite pastimes, Miss Swann.' She seemed resigned to him calling her by a formal title.

'Yet, I did see your dashing figure gracing the dance floor, if my eyes do not betray me.'

'So you did.'

'Your partner danced very well. Miss Alicia Groves, I believe?' Norrington inclined his head, and wished they could let this subject alone, and talk of cakes and ships instead.

'You are good friends with her brother, are you not?'

'I am.'

'And do you see the young lady often, Commodore?' her voice had dropped a note or two, as though she was sharing some great secret, and Norrington found he had to lean towards her slightly to hear her words.

He understood immediately what she was implying, and felt ill. From _her_, of all people. He needed neither her pity nor her help to find happiness. The only way in which she might have somehow enriched and fulfilled his life was a dead journey, a pathway she had once dared to half-heartedly tread. But no longer.

'You are mistaken, ma'am. I have only met her once before this evening. I find her company tolerable, her brother's infinitely more so.'

'Oh?' Though he was staring straight ahead, he was sure she had raised a sceptical eyebrow. 'I was sure I saw some partiality on the part of the lady.'

Norrington refused to rise to her wily bait. 'Miss Swann, I am a bachelor of no mean fortune and of no great age. I have seen enough evidence of partiality on the part of ladies to last through this lifetime and well into the next.' He could not prevent a bitter edge from creeping into his voice, and wondered if he had sounded callous.

Elizabeth was silent in contemplation for a moment. 'But…what use is partiality if it is not reciprocated, Commodore?'

He turned his head slowly, and noticed her eyes were brimming with tears as she answered his gaze. He nodded solemnly, and smiled a little wanly, wishing he were anywhere but on the steps, discussing the fractured state of his heart with the woman responsible for it.

'You…you must be cold, Miss Swann,' he said lamely. 'Please allow me to escort you into the house.'

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AN: man, this party seems to be dragging on a wee bit. Well, do enjoy and come back soon. Merci beaucoup xxx 


	11. Chapter 11

AN: anger, anger. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr stupid _lightning _fried my Internet connection. How or why, I have no idea! More fool me for living in _England_, I guess. Raaaa….anyway, as a small apology to you all, bless you, I am submitting three chapters at once. That should keep you going in the case of any other freak weather conditions. Much much apology. Am _still _fuming.

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11

Norrington was sure that both he and Elizabeth were equally relieved to part company. He had neither invited nor encouraged his former fiancée's confidence and intimacy, and he felt plagued rather than blessed by it now, especially as Elizabeth seemed to have decided Alicia Groves would make a fine wife for her discarded suitor.

The crowds in the main ballroom had dissipated somewhat, but the atmosphere was nevertheless muggy with the press of many bodies. Norrington cast his eye about for Groves, so that the two might indulge in laments on their hatred of such social affairs together. Norrington suspected that his young Lieutenant enjoyed these gatherings more than he let on.

Finally, after circling the room surreptitiously more than once, trying hard not to look alone, he caught a flash of the rich purple dress Miss Groves was wearing, and wound his way across the floor to her.

She was engaged in conversation with a gentleman several years younger than the Commodore, and seemed to be deeply interested and involved in his chosen topic. Norrington furrowed his brow in jealous disapproval to see her so animated in the company of anyone but himself, and wondered whether he might reserve another dance without appearing forward. Then, a familiar voice whispered conspiratorially in his ear,

'They make an excellent couple, do they not, James?'

The Governor was looking decidedly worse for wear from the copious amounts of alcohol circulating in the house. He seemed positively enraptured by the idea of another betrothal for the women of Port Royal to dissect and mull over. Norrington, unfortunately, could not share his enthusiasm, but merely agreed coldly.

'Enjoying yourself, James, my boy?' the Governor, noticing the absence of a glass in Norrington's hand, looked around wildly for a servant with a laden tray. The Commodore ignored his foolish question, and continued to watch the young gentleman with Miss Groves, noticing the way he leaned towards her secretively.

The Governor had moved on to slump drunkenly in a corner with another group, and the Commodore was left in brooding silence until Groves found him, and nudged him in the side.

'Cheer up, sir. It's a party, remember.'

Norrington looked scathingly at the Lieutenant. 'I hadn't noticed, Groves.'

His companion giggled a little, and stumbled unsteadily. The Commodore rolled his eyes in despair.

'Who is that young man with whom your sister is conversing, Lieutenant? Have they been formally introduced?'

'Oh, yes,' Groves said passionately. 'That's Freddy Armitage…you know, his father's something big in cotton or something…anyway, he's damn rich, and I can't seem to prise him away from Lissy.' He caught the man's eye and raised his empty glass wildly. They crossed over to the couple, and Norrington bowed stiffly to Miss Groves.

'I am pleased to see you are enjoying the proceedings, Miss Groves,' he said quietly.

'I am, Commodore, I thank you.' It appeared she was not about to impart any further information, and her brother took it upon himself to introduce the two men.

'Freddy, this is Commodore James Norrington…master of ceremonies here in Port Royal…does us all proud, does the Commodore…sir, give me leave to present Mr Frederick Armitage, formerly of Manchester.'

The two men bowed to each other, Norrington with a great deal less flourish than the younger man.

'So, Commodore, I hear we're toasting the health and happiness of your former betrothed tonight, am I right?'

Norrington could scarcely breathe for the man's lack of any tact or propriety. He raised his eyebrows at Groves, who was at any rate otherwise engaged in searching for the drinks servers who had earlier eluded the Governor.

'That is correct, sir.'

'Damn shame, Norrington, I must say,' Armitage continued, shaking his head in faux sympathy. 'Women these days…such flighty things, I'm sure you'd agree? Present company excluded, of course,' he added hastily with a toothy grin at Miss Groves, who smiled back at him brightly.

'I couldn't rightly say, sir, I confess. Miss Swann is in every way an admirable young woman.'

Armitage raised his eyebrows in obvious disbelief. 'Well, man…I certainly shouldn't have let a girl like that run away and marry some farmer…'

'Mr Turner is a blacksmith, actually, sir, and one of the most talented in the region. The British Navy in these parts owes much of its military success to the skilled hands of Mr Turner. Please excuse me.' he bowed curtly and walked briskly away, marvelling at the fact that he had defended William Turner out loud.

Norrington, looking at the grand clock in the entrance hall, noted that it was past midnight, and judged it finally acceptable for him to leave. There were few people in the large lobby, and he enjoyed the cool air and the soothing darkness, the muted glow of candlesticks and marble tiles.

His carriage was only a few minutes in arriving, the valet having predicted his master's hurry to depart the premises. With a final look back at the magic swirl of dancing and romancing, he settled back in the silence and blessed solitude of the cab, and relaxed as he was sped homewards.

He realised as he slowly mounted the stairs and went through the motions of his preparations for bed, that his eyes were dry and aching, and that his feet felt shaky with the effort of standing up for so long. He collapsed with very little regard for decorum or composure on his expansive bed and stared blankly at the canopy above.

It was difficult to recall a more wasteful evening, he concluded pessimistically. He had been forced not only to dance, and endure the drunken exploits of the Governor, but also to watch the future Mrs Turner revel in her joyous betrothal. That she should crown his misery by sitting and commiserating with him on his regrettably single status, was too much to bear. And as for Mr Frederick Armitage, whoever he might be! Norrington, in his typical storm of discontent, bitterly wished him well with Miss Groves, whose demure, introverted character was beginning to grate on his nerves.

It was incomprehensible, the extent to which she persisted on meeting his polite inquiries and admittedly feeble attempts at conversation with cold indifference, and then proceeded to converse animatedly with the next flamboyant cad who walked into the room.

But he was being snobbish again, and he resolved to sleep and think no more of women and their infernal indecision and mystery. It would be prudent to reprimand Groves for his inebriated behaviour in the morning, despite the growing link between the two men. He could not very well vent his frustration on the man's sister, after all, no matter how much she deserved it.

In a thoroughly vexed humour, Norrington shuffled beneath the covers and, after several hours more futile ponderings on the dissatisfaction caused by the evening, he fell asleep.

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AN: keep on reading, my patient, patient lil ones… 


	12. Chapter 12

AN: and here is another chapter…which contains a rather hungover Groves. I have much sympathy for the poor devil...

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12

Despite a pot of fragrant coffee, and toast so thin it was nearly translucent, the morning found the Commodore in no better mood than the previous evening.

He cursed the weather for daring to be so brilliant in contrast to his filthy temper, and cursed the single glass of champagne he had drunk, which seemed inexplicably to have left him with a stinging headache, and which was not improved by the harsh sun.

His mood was further worsened by the thought of the postponed picnic, which had once seemed so appealing. Having no longer any desire to make Miss Alicia Groves' better acquaintance, due to her aloof manners the night before, and having a strong and unusually melodramatic desire to wallow in his own misery and solitude for the rest of time, the idea had somewhat lost its attraction.

However, he felt, after much agonising and soul-searching, that it would be decidedly impolite to withdraw the invitation after all the preparations for the picnic, and he was unwilling to face a lynching by his men if he deprived them yet again of their day out to the beautiful island.

With this obligation in mind, he set about unwillingly arranging a new date for the picnic, and compiled lists of necessary equipment, foodstuffs and personnel for the excursion, albeit with a distinct lack of enthusiasm in comparison to his previous zeal.

Meanwhile, in the _Royal Oak, _Groves was in a far less mobile state.

He lay prostrate across his bed while his wife resignedly mopped his brow with a damp cloth. Every so often, the indisposed Lieutenant groaned miserably and professed his inclination to die.

'Don't be foolish, Theodore,' Elinor Groves said briskly. 'I see you are as incapable as ever of coping with alcohol. Perhaps this will teach you to exercise a little…_restraint_ when you are next at a party.'

Groves was in no mood to quarrel with his wife, for fear that she might raise her voice above its usual ladylike murmur. He frowned at his sister, who was sitting composedly in the corner, reading, and showing no after-effects at all of the night's carousing.

'I must say,' he said accusingly, 'you were rather rude to the Commodore last night.'

Miss Groves looked up and glared at her brother. 'I most certainly was not.'

'I must protest – you were. You hardly said a word to him all night.'

'I hardly said a word to _you_, dear brother, yet you are not complaining.'

Groves sat up rather quickly, felt the world spinning about him, and fell back into the pillows. With his eyes closed in pain, he berated his sister. 'But you _knew_ his situation, Alicia. You knew what sacrifices he made to be there last night, and rather than make him feel welcome and diverted, you stood gossiping with Freddie Armitage most of the night.'

Miss Groves put her book to one side coolly. 'Theodore, if you would accuse me of telling Mr Armitage the reason for the Commodore's ill humour, I beg leave to acquit myself. And you certainly seemed to have no objection to my spending time with him yesterday.'

'Alicia, you know as well as I that I was in no state to judge the situation well yesterday.'

'That much is evident,' his wife said with a disapproving sniff, fluffing up the pillows further.

'So you would wish me to dedicate my conversation and company to Commodore Norrington exclusively, despite the great disparity in our ages and intellects, Theodore?' Miss Groves asked, not without a hint of aggravation in her low voice.

'I never suggested anything of the sort, sister,' Groves replied. 'I merely think you would not find him half as disagreeable as you have evidently judged him to be at present, should you endeavour to spend more time with him.'

Miss Groves opened her mouth in slight shock, and furrowed her pale brow. Finally, she stood briskly. 'I never said I found him disagreeable,' she snapped before storming out of the room.

Once in her own small bedroom, she locked the door and looked out of the bay window, out over the wide street towards the mighty fort. She suddenly felt the prickle of inexplicable tears at the back of her eyes, and sniffing delicately, she finally let them fall.

It was too bad, she thought as she tried to stifle her sobs. That her brother should read her so poorly, and believe her to be deliberately snubbing the Commodore, when in fact it was timidity and an awful sense of inferiority that held her back from pressing her mediocre company on the admired officer. Surely it was obvious to Theodore that she deemed herself to compare better to the brash Mr Armitage than to the gentlemanly, lauded Commodore Norrington?

Being in his presence made her blush and retreat within a protective shell, for fear she might embarrass herself through some awful social faux pas. It was worse to know that his tastes were as impeccable as to include the fearsome Miss Swann, a woman Miss Groves had admired greatly at the ball.

During the course of the evening she had concluded that a man with such prospects, a man so widely esteemed, was far above forming even a platonic attachment with a woman such as herself, and consequently she had endeavoured to distance herself from him, so that she would not find herself falling hopelessly in love with his green eyes and quiet smile.

As her weeping abated somewhat, she remembered the one dance they had shared the night before, and cursed her own reticence, that she had barely responded to his kindly questioning. And yet, it was for the best, she surmised, recalling the wonderment in his eyes as her beheld Miss Swann. There would be no competition at all.

She had internally pleaded for another chance to spin in his secure arms, to forsake Armitage's babbling company for Commodore Norrington's refined silence, but realised all too swiftly that he had only obliged her that once for the sake of social appearance, and was indebted to him at any rate for saving her from standing alone during the festivities.

Watching the Port become steadily busier, Miss Groves rebuked herself for upsetting herself so over such men, and over the ignorance of her foolish brother. She wiped her face daintily with her handkerchief and reminded herself that they would be moving to a plantation within a month, whereupon she could spend the days drinking tea and receiving young ladies from neighbouring estates and forget the feeling of the Commodore's steady hand on her arm as he led her to the floor.

As she tidied herself, studying her slightly peaky reflection in the glass, there was a sharp knock at the door.

'Yes?' she called, her voice quavering a little.

'Alicia, dear, are you quite all right?' came Elinor's motherly tone.

'Indeed, yes, Mrs Groves,' she replied more firmly. 'I shall be out directly.'

Mrs Groves paused briefly, evidently disbelieving her sister-in-law. 'Well…please, do not mind Lieutenant Groves. He is still suffering from last night, and was not thinking properly when he said such things to you.'

'I assure you, madam, I am quite well,' Miss Groves said more cheerfully than she felt.

'Good. I have a letter here for you from the Commodore, if you wish to read it.'

Miss Groves promptly sat down again on her window-seat. It was most unfair of him to do this to her, to write her letters, when he evidently promised nothing. Her heart began to beat most inconveniently.

'Alicia?' Elinor sounded worried.

Miss Groves wiped her face once more and unbolted the door. Elinor Groves handed her the sealed parchment and smiled conspiratorially. Miss Groves felt her mood droop. She would rather both the Commodore and Frederick Armitage were out of her life, so that she might continue, unruffled, reading her novels.

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AN: one more to go… 


	13. Chapter 13

AN: last instalment for _now, _but, excluding insane British storms, more should be on its way. I like this one, actually. Ah, a nice refreshing walk on the sea-front. Nothing better, surely? apart from dishevelled Norrie, naturally…

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13

She was happy to be left alone in the sunny parlour of the inn to read the letter. She supposed it could only be about the picnic, and wondered whether she would be dreadfully disappointed if the Commodore was writing to inform her of its permanent cancellation. The letter itself, however, revealed the opposite.

_Dear Miss Groves, _read the letter,

_I trust you enjoyed the proceedings last night, and hope you are in good health. I write to invite you to a picnic on Santa Maria, on Thursday week. I expect you remember our proposed outing some time ago, and hope this new date is acceptable to you. I await your reply, and remain,_

_James Norrington._

Miss Groves let the letter fall to her lap, a little deflated. So she would be going to Santa Maria with the handsome Commodore, after all. But she detected no great desire or enthusiasm for her attendance in the letter, as she had in his first correspondence. She sat in the parlour for some time.

Her brother, finally vertical thanks in no small part to the care of his wife, finally came downstairs and announced his intention to visit the fort and oversee some training. Miss Groves fought with herself, before expressing her wish to accompany him, so that she might reply in person to the Commodore's second invitation.

Groves smiled readily as he heard his sister articulate this desire, and gladly took her arm as they walked through the streets leisurely, drawing more than one admiring glance for the smart cut of his uniform, and the quiet English beauty of the young woman by his side.

'You really needn't come, Alicia,' he said presently. 'I am quite capable of conveying your reply to James.'

'I know,' replied she, 'but I would much rather respond in person. After all, you yourself have complained at length at my lack of confidence. I shall practice my resolve to be more amiable on your friend. I am sure he can have no complaint.'

Groves frowned slightly. His sister evidently considered James his friend, rather than a handsome, rich young bachelor who, when the mood took him, could be more than likeable. However, he felt it imprudent to push the point further, and they carried on in the hot sun until they reached the fort, which was buzzing even at that early hour.

The Commodore was studying a trade report from the West Indies when they found him in the shade of a stone balcony. He looked up as they approached.

'Lieutenant Groves!' he exclaimed. 'I had not expected to see you this morning.'

Groves hung his head a little bashfully. 'I confess I find myself more mobile than I probably deserve after last night's excess,' he admitted. Norrington, however, was smiling, as he bowed and kissed Miss Groves' gloved hand.

'It is a pleasure to see you, Miss Groves,' he said quietly. 'A fine day for a stroll along the water-front, would you not agree?'

Miss Groves suddenly found herself, despite her previous resolution to engage with greater frequency and eagerness in conversation with the Commodore, a little tongue-tied.

'Why…yes, Commodore…er…fine weather, indeed.' She looked at the floor miserably under the brim of her hat.

'Well, Groves,' Norrington continued, turning to her brother. 'Come to see the show, have you?' Groves looked puzzled. 'Fifty new recruits arrived three days ago, fresh as daisies, and most of them barely seen a rifle before. And they're all yours, my friend. Do…ah…lick them into shape, won't you?'

'Yes, sir.' Groves looked less than happy at the prospect.

'Come, man, a fine naval officer like yourself. It can be your crowning glory before you leave us.'

Miss Groves, whose mind had been wandering slightly as she watched marines drilling, and seagulls wheeling over the huge Union Jack, suddenly remembered the errand which had brought her to the fort.

Timidly, she stepped forward. 'Er…Commodore Norrington?' she asked shyly.

'Yes, Miss Groves?' he replied, mildly surprised by her interruption.

'I…I was fortunate enough to take delivery of your kind invitation this morning.'

'Oh? I hope it was favourable to you?'

'Indeed, yes,' she said hastily. 'I should be delighted to accept it.'

'Good, good,' the Commodore said with a smile of rare joy. 'I certainly hope it will be a grand occasion.'

Miss Groves nodded quickly, and, the acceptance spoken, found herself completely unable to think of a way to continue the faltering conversation.

There was a shout from the other side of the courtyard. All three glanced in that direction.

'Ah, Lieutenant,' Norrington said. 'It seems you are needed already.'

Groves looked tormented. 'So it seems, sir. But I really must escort Alicia back the _Oak _first. My wife would certainly not allow her to walk the streets of Port Royal unaccompanied.'

'I quite agree, Groves,' Norrington nodded. The shouts from the opposite corner became more insistent. 'How about I escort Miss Groves back to the inn, Lieutenant? I am not particularly busy this morning, if she would be so kind as to acquiesce. And,' he added hastily, 'if that is acceptable to her brother, of course.'

Groves looked somewhat relieved. 'Of course, sir. Alicia, go with the Commodore.'

Miss Groves scowled at being patronised so, but obligingly took the Commodore's proffered arm gently, her face flushed beneath her bonnet.

The exited the fort, Norrington noting the curious stares of some of the younger officers, and began to stroll along the sea-front, along the high, well built walls. The silence between them was pressing.

Norrington's head was clearer than it had been upon awaking that morning, and he began to analyse his confusing feelings towards the women who featured in his rather lonely life. He had fallen asleep after the party determined to think no more of Elizabeth Swann, and angry with Miss Groves for her obvious happiness at being around the dashing Mr Armitage.

However, when he looked up to see her slim figure at Groves' side, and felt his heart leap a little, he realised he might have misunderstood her reaction somewhat. What person walked miles in the hot sun to reply personally to an invitation, without some inclination of friendship or regard? He wondered if perhaps Elizabeth had been right, in that annoying way that women often have, and had observed some partiality on the part of Miss Groves.

Norrington was unsure how he would or should react were he to happen upon evidence to confirm this, and doubtfully remembered the coldness with which the young woman had left his side after their brief dance. It was unclear to him in his emotional distress, for the hurt caused by the rejection of Miss Swann had been intensified by the party, whether he would welcome her affection, let alone find it within himself to return it.

Glancing briefly at her slender form next to him, he compared her none too critically to Elizabeth. Surely the Governor's daughter was far more beautiful, and yet…Miss Groves had a fresh naivety about her, the remnants of a character more used to the refinery of England, rather than the humid squalor of Port Royal. It was a fine day, and Norrington felt that it would be counter-productive to waste such good weather worrying about young women and their intentions.

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AN: until soon, then, my chicks. Thank you for your patience and understanding. There is no justice in this world… 


	14. Chapter 14

AN: so, here is more Norrie goodness. And I would appreciate some support, because Spain, for whom I have a soft spot, were knocked out of the World Cup yesterday. A sad day for football. Anyway, read, enjoy, drop me a line! Love dd xx

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14

Miss Groves, meanwhile, was contemplating the awkwardness of the situation.

After her tearful ponderings of that morning, she was disposed to look on the Commodore in an even more pessimistic light – as a gentleman of great consequence, who deserved a wife of similar calibre to Miss Swann, not a shy, graceless girl newly arrived from the different world of England. He must surely scorn her for her inability to understand the customs and standards of his world.

And yet – he had offered to escort her home – the Commodore, the most important man in the British Navy in the Caribbean, who indisputably had better things to do with his precious time than seeing inelegant younger sisters home. And especially young women who had thus far certainly not endeared herself to said Commodore with her sparkling wit and effortless discourse.

They continued in uncomfortable silence for several minutes, both pretending to be engrossed in the sparkling water of the bay and the cloudy sails of ships loading and patrolling.

Presently, Norrington, out of sheer embarrassment, broke the silence. 'I am most awfully pleased you are accompanying us to Santa Maria, Miss Groves,' he began, cringing at his ungainly turn of phrase.

'Yes,' replied his companion, 'I look forward to it.'

'It is a most beautiful island, Santa Maria. I do hope you will learn to love it, as I have.' The moment the words were out of his mouth, Norrington felt how forward they were, and blushed a deep red.

'I have heard it is, indeed, a paradise.'

Norrington, too concerned with avoiding further humiliation, deemed silence to be the better option.

After several more minutes passed without any exchange between the two, even the most basic of topics, the weather, having been exhausted, the Commodore felt there was nothing to be done but to throw decorum and social rules to the wind.

'I must know, Miss Groves,' he began haltingly, feeing his resolve drain away as she turned to him and gazed quizzically upwards with her innocent eyes, 'do you not enjoy my company?'

Miss Groves looked mildly astonished, and opened her mouth to protest, but Norrington continued hastily, 'I know I have little to recommend me, for my personality is dreary and…occasionally abrasive, but I hope I have never done anything to intimidate you…'

Miss Groves was still looking shocked. 'Why, no, Commodore, indeed not,' she managed to gasp. 'I simply…I cannot imagine what two people as different as we two would have to talk about. That is all. I would not wish to bore you with talk of inane romance novels and embroidery.'

Norrington's eyebrows raised in similar surprise. 'By that, Miss Groves, I imagine you mean you would have no desire to hear of trade routes and orders for sail canvas?' he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Miss Groves had the grace to blush as she laughed. 'Not at all, sir…I am sure I could learn a great deal in conversation with a man such as yourself. However, I fear the advantage would not be mutual.'

Norrington was silent a moment, pondering her meaning. A seagull cawed raucously above in the flawless sky. 'On the contrary,' he said lightly. 'I have never read a romantic novel. I have a great deal to learn.' He smiled tentatively, and felt his throat tighten as she raised her head to smile back at him.

A light breeze picked up, ruffling the hair about her face, and rippling her full skirts, and Norrington felt a great satisfaction with the world in general.

'I…' he was unsure how to express himself. 'I only asked…because I thought you timid when I first met you.' He glanced sideways to ensure she was not offended. 'And yet…I saw you conversing with Mr Armitage last night.'

Miss Groves swallowed delicately. 'But Mr Armitage is not a revered and respected gentleman,' she replied quietly. Norrington felt his heartbeat quicken at her praise.

'So, you confess you are intimidated by me?' he teased her.

'I most certainly do not, sir. I simply feel Mr Armitage and I are on a more equal social footing. I would not be embarrassed should I bore _him_ with information on the latest fashions in London.'

Norrington hoped with all his being that she was being sincere.

'Commodore Norrington?'

'Yes, ma'am?'

Miss Groves stopped on the walkway and looked at him earnestly. 'I wish you to know that I…I was not responsible for making Mr Armitage sensible of…the nature of your relationship with Miss Swann, although I was previously aware of it, I confess.'

Norrington felt his pleasant mood shatter. How inconvenient that she should know of his chequered and unhappy recent past! Her present open and affable nature, then, was most likely pity. He scowled.

'Please, sir,' she pleaded upon seeing his tempestuous expression. 'I was…most alarmed to hear of it, and I offer you every sympathy. I…' she ducked her head and spoke more quietly, 'I am sure you will find happiness somewhere.'

Despite his inner rejoicing at her sweet concern, the Commodore was unsure how to respond. Stiffly, he said 'I assure you, Miss Groves, my heart has been damaged more by the numerous pirates who have escaped my searches, than by a woman who was fully within her right to shun me for a…better emotional match.'

Miss Groves looked somewhat disbelieving. 'You certainly seemed in an ill humour yesterday evening, Commodore, if I may say so.'

'As I said, ma'am, I am no great lover of dancing,' he said curtly and began walking again, wishing desperately that they might move on from the topic of his ill-fated betrothal to Miss Swann as soon as possible.

They soon arrived at the _Royal Oak, _where they stood in uncertain silence.

'Miss Groves…I apologise if I have been…unduly rude or presumptuous,' Norrington said slowly. 'I confess my skills at conversation are lacking.'

'Not at all, Commodore,' she replied with another smile, although a little awkwardly. 'I thank you for taking the time to accompany me.'

'It was my pleasure.'

With a swift, chaste kiss to the hand, she was gone into the inn, and the Commodore was left in the morning sun to curse himself for his somewhat harsh tone towards the end of their promenade.

As he returned to the fort, deep in thought, he was torn between the agreeable memory of their briefly successful conversation, and confusion at her motivation. She seemed to pity him in his dejection, and yet he was not certain that this was all that compelled her to talk so candidly to him. However, with recent failures with women in mind, he was in no mind to presume a regard on her behalf which would invariably turn out to be phantom.

Nevertheless, he could not help but let himself look forward to the upcoming picnic, and allow his mind to idly daydream of possible scenarios in the lush jungle of the island as he strode briskly back the way he had come with Miss Groves.

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AN: come back soon, dd xx 


	15. Chapter 15

AN: yay, more Norrie goodness. And on a completely unrelated point, I hope Cristiano Ronaldo gets what he deserves. A nice kick in the goolies from John Terry wouldn't go amiss. And I, as a Welshwoman, don't even _support _England. Man, I'm well and truly riled now. Let us commence with a nice, sophisticated picnic in the sun, shall we? dd xx

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15

The days before the proposed picnic passed in a flurry of careful organisation and unchecked excitement in all sections of the party.

The huge wicker hampers were packed with mouth-watering foodstuffs, from glazed cold hams and spicy pickles to deep fruit pies sprinkled with sugar and tropical salads containing pineapple, mango and all manner of colourful offerings. Ten of the most eager marines were to be seen very early that morning, carrying huge parasols, gazebos, and dainty chairs for the ladies onto the _Dauntless_.

Commodore James Norrington watched these proceedings with a satisfied air. Whatever happened with regard to his indecisive friendship with Miss Alicia Groves, he would be safe in the knowledge that his men had enjoyed a well-earned break. He was pleased to hear their joyous voices as they gladly hoisted the crates of food on board.

It was not until some hours later, when the first chill of the morning had dissipated into the customary warmth of the Caribbean day, that the members of the party who had not risen with the dawn to help with the preparations began to arrive. Norrington noted that several officers seemed to have acquired young women on their arms, and were strolling around the deck proudly with these companions in tow. Norrington was, as ever, in no mood to observe the young ladies, but rather kept an eye on the shore, in the direction of the _Royal Oak._

There were but a few minutes remaining before their projected departure when the Commodore, who had unwittingly been jiggling nervously from foot to foot as he awaited Lieutenant Groves and his sister, spotted the couple making their way down the steps to the quay.

'Ah, Lieutenant!' he hailed loudly, waving from the deck.

His friend saw, and waved in return, and Norrington scampered down from his high perch to help Miss Groves on board the ship. He could not help but beam foolishly as he handed her down onto the polished boards of the deck and welcomed her proudly onto his _Dauntless_.

He walked with the two siblings some way around the deck, watching as Groves pointed out the attention to detail in the workmanship.

Presently the company of the ship galvanised into action, and Norrington was obliged to step up to the captain's deck to oversee their brief voyage to the island. It was another fine day, and he relished the familiar feeling of the rushing wind making his eyes water as they made good progress through the clear water.

He was so engrossed in scanning the horizon with his telescope, watching the green island draw ever closer, that he failed to notice another presence at his elbow, until his new companion spoke.

'It is just as my brother described, Commodore Norrington – a palace on water.'

The Commodore lowered his telescope and turned to greet Miss Groves, who was looking pretty in a mint-green dress.

'You like it then?' he asked casually, one protective hand on the rail of his beloved ship.

'I do.' She replied sagely, as though her opinion on the _Dauntless _was of great importance. And, Norrington realised, it was. He smiled at her sheepishly, and became aware that he was unconsciously stroking the wooden rail. He desisted.

They stood in silence in the refreshing breeze as the _Dauntless _sped on her way. Norrington wondered what sort of a domestic image they presented to the others leisurely strolling arm-in-arm about the deck. He decided it was a magnificent feeling to be standing tall and proud at the helm of his ship with a fine woman at his side, and smiled to himself.

He was smiling far too much these days, he thought, for a man with so much responsibility and with the humiliation of Miss Swann's final decision fresh in the memory of most of society.

'Has something amused you, Commodore?' Miss Groves asked gently. He turned sharply towards her and caught the laughter in her eyes, and recalled the closed, sullen face he had first seen in the harbour, the day the Groves family had arrived.

'Not at all,' he replied with a great sigh of happiness at the perfection of the day and the company, 'I was simply considering how lucky I am.'

'Oh? How so?' he could have sworn she was raising an eyebrow in that tantalisingly mocking way Elizabeth often had, and immediately cursed himself for having drawn comparisons between the two again.

'I…to be stationed in an Elysium such as this…and to have no pirates to pursue, to have the wind in the sails…what naval officer could want more?'

Miss Groves returned her gaze to the open ocean. 'And the company, Commodore Norrington? Is that similarly to your liking?' she almost whispered.

He paused, and contemplated his reply carefully. 'Yes. I like the company very much,' he said equally quietly, almost solemnly, and also looked out to sea, an expression of great concentration on his face.

Presently, just as the Commodore was beginning to think he must say something else to back up his previous statement, Lieutenant Groves came bounding excitedly up the steps towards them.

'Not long now, eh, sir? A few more minutes?'

'Fifteen minutes would not be a poor estimate, Lieutenant,' replied Norrington, a little flustered.

'And how do you like the voyage, sister? A fine day for sailing the high seas, do you not agree?'

'Yes,' Miss Groves said, returning to the quiet composure to which Norrington was more used. He felt a certain sense of relief that Groves had arrived on the scene to alleviate the tension he felt growing, and wondered if it might be easier to converse freely with her on the beach instead.

As promised, it was only a further quarter of an hour before the _Dauntless _anchored offshore, and launched the small boats to take the company and the accompanying luggage to the island. There was a great air of excitement and anticipation among the gathered group, and they chattered eagerly as they loaded into the boats and struck out for shore.

In the race for the boats, Norrington lost sight of Miss Groves, and was momentarily caught up in organising an orderly system for loading the crates of cutlery and crockery, which was in danger of being left onboard.

Finally the party was successfully onshore, with the Commodore's boat the last to ground itself in the fine sand of Santa Maria. He looked about him as he jumped agilely out of the boat. Some of the men had already kicked off their cumbersome shoes, and peeled off their pristine stockings, and were relishing the feeling of hot sand between their toes. The ladies were strolling merrily arm-in-arm, their delicate skin shaded from the sun by lacy parasols. It was indeed a perfect picture.

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AN: um…the bit where Norrington is stroking the rail…I would request that you remove your minds from the gutter, as this is a K fic. Shame on me for even thinking it. Right, roll on the barbequed pork, and thank you for all your reviews! dd xx 


	16. Chapter 16

AN: man, this chapter makes me want to seize up the picnic hamper, make some cucumber sandwiches, and venture into the sunshine with a Pimms in hand. Unfortunately, I have to mow the lawn. But _you _can enjoy the picnic on Santa Maria, if you so wish. And thank you again for all your kind reviews, I know this fic is all very innocent and so on, but we all need a little respite from the sordid side of life occasionally, do we not? dd xx

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16

The day passed far too quickly for everyone's liking.

The Commodore, to his regret, found himself in high demand for sweaty ball games, and in the frenzy of physical activity, during which he lost his wig, his shoes and any shred of pride he might previously have possessed, he found no time to search for Miss Groves and take her for a short walk through the lush jungle.

Nevertheless, he enjoyed himself tremendously, despite his utter inability to throw the ball anywhere near its intended target, an odd deficiency for so skilled a marksman, and was ravenous by the time the marines in charge of the barbecue began serving dinner.

Flopping gratefully onto a sand drift, he accepted a plate of sizzling pork and a tankard of cold ale. The cool drink slid easily down his throat, and the meat had a wonderfully smoky taste that reminded him of family holidays in Cornwall during his childhood. Watching the dying embers of the fire, and the carefree couples spinning around it to the tune of Dawes' fiddle, he could find no fault with the world.

He closed his eyes in the balmy heat of the evening, letting the whispers of his beloved sea and the happy shouts of his friends and companions lull him into a dozy repose. _I should be this contented more often_, he thought idly, sleepy from his exertions that afternoon.

'And what could this be?' he heard a familiar, blessed voice intrude his peace, 'A Commodore, napping?'

He opened his tired eyes a crack, and was rewarded by the pleasant sight of Miss Groves standing before him, swinging her closed parasol in one hand and a half-eaten papaya in the other. Norrington became uncomfortably aware that his natural hair was rather dishevelled, and that his shirt was open more than was strictly decent. He sat up slowly, straightening the offending garment furtively.

'Miss Groves.'

She sat beside him on the drift, with her legs tucked beneath her. Norrington noticed that she was barefoot, and caught a glimpse of her tiny feet before they disappeared beneath her expansive dress, and he coloured a little.

'H-how do you like the island, madam?' he asked a little clumsily.

'It is beautiful, Commodore Norrington,' she replied, fiddling with the parasol by her side. 'I should like to come here again.'

'Perhaps you shall, one day,' he said absently, watching her pale fingers trace the scalloped edges of the lace.

She looked up at him and smiled shyly. Her intense gaze made him feel uneasy, and he continued hastily, 'I regret we must soon be departing, however. There is still sufficient light for us to reach Port Royal.' Miss Groves nodded, and resumed her perusal of her parasol.

As if in confirmation of his assertion, Norrington felt a heavy drop of rain hit his wrist, and, looking around, saw that several other people were holding their hands out, feeling for further droplets.

'Rain!' he said in surprise. 'Come, Miss Groves, we must get to the _Dauntless _as soon as possible, to avoid having to load her in torrential showers.' With that, he helped her to her feet, and directed her towards the small boats.

With the large company of marines working hard, it was a matter of minutes before the debris of the picnic was packed up and loaded into the boats. By this time the rain was falling hard, and the wails of women bemoaning their ruined hairstyles were beginning to grate on Norrington's nerves. His wig hurriedly placed askew on his hair, he attempted to coordinate a speedy retreat to the magnificent _Dauntless. _

It was a disappointing end to a marvellous day, as the women and gentlemen crowded into the small officers' cabins in the warmth, and the marines slipped and slid around the lurching deck, blinded by lashing rain and heaving waves. Norrington stood on his bridge, his coat collar pulled up around his cheeks, feeling his ship groan and pitch in the churning waters. He envied Miss Groves in the comfort of the cabin, and wondered whether by any chance she had found herself in his own room.

Then, the lightning began.

Norrington was used to such conditions, with threatening black clouds and brilliant white flashes, winds and rains so powerful that he could barely see five feet ahead, but he feared for the women indoors, so unused to the tempests that rocked the seas.

The journey back to Port Royal seemed twice as long as the outward leg, perhaps due to the Commodore's necessary caution in steering around the hidden reefs outside the bay.

Finally poor Bobby Martin, soaked to the skin in the crow's nest, declared that he saw the lights of the port ahead.

Gillette, his auburn hair plastered to his face beneath his sodden wig, stumbled towards the bridge, clutching wildly at rails and ropes on his way.

'Commodore!' he shouted, straining to be heard over the din of the storm.

'Yes!' Norrington replied through the gloom.

'We cannot bring her into harbour, can we? She'll be dashed against the quays at this rate…'

Though his voice threatened to be swept away, Norrington caught his meaning and nodded in agreement. 'The small boats! We can launch them in the shelter provided by the _Dauntless_!' he cried. Gillette heard, and staggered back to inform the seasick marines.

It was nigh on impossible, with the ship rolling so dramatically, and the wind blowing the sailors back as they struggled to pull ropes and lower the sails. The rain trickled into Norrington's eyes so he could hardly see, and his hoarse commands were lost in the melee.

Finally the boats were ready to be launched, and, keeping his head bowed against the battering wind, barely noticing as his wig was torn from his head by the gales, he picked his way across the deck to the warm cabin. Therein he found the civilians of the party huddled in anxiety, the faces of many of the women white with fear. Gasping for breath, he tried to allay their dread.

'Please, ladies…' he managed, leaning heavily against the doorpost, 'we are launching the small boats, as we do not dare try to bring the ship into harbour in these conditions. With the marines helping you, you should have no trouble crossing the deck to the boats.' Many of the women blanched further at this news, but Norrington was in no mood for female fits of hysterics, and opened the door to the cabin, allowing the elements to flood in.

'Please form a line and obey the orders of the marines,' he said curtly, and exited the cabin, back into the howling conditions.

The marines were capable enough, and quickly formed a system whereby the womenfolk could be swiftly and safely loaded into the small boats. Even in the terrible climate, they set their teeth to this task, and had three of the five boats safely on the way into harbour within ten minutes.

But the _Dauntless_, despite her stature and reputation, was an old ship. The sudden tropical storm was placing undue stress on the creaking joints of her framework, and Norrington knew it. He could feel the wood groaning as the sea strangled his vessel, and he looked anxiously at Gillette, who was marshalling marines and the remaining few women into the fourth boat. The Captain returned his troubled look with understanding and similar worry, but the two pressed on, standing firm on the rain-slicked deck.

Norrington finished loading his boat, and watched as it was lowered down the black side of the _Dauntless_, the ropes let out cautiously, painfully slowly, the women gasping with each inevitable lurch.

He looked up in time to see a rope snap free from one of the sails, and flail in the turbulent air. At that same moment, Captain Gillette too caught sight of the sudden breakage, and the two slid and dove across the perilous deck to tie it down again, for the sail was beginning to unfurl dangerously.

Panting heavily, the two men seized the thrashing rope, and heaved on it with all their might, finally succeeding in fastening it securely to a mast, and tying the loose sail-canvas down temporarily.

'Good, Gillette,' Norrington gasped. 'Is the fourth boat loaded?'

'There are three women remaining,' Gillette answered shortly above the howl of the wind. 'I must return…they were left standing on the deck and I fear they will be harmed if…' the ship lurched once more, and Norrington heard the screams of the three women left onboard, and saw distant shadows through the lashing rain clutch wildly at railings and pillars. And one sliding hopelessly across the tilting deck, falling into darkness beyond.

'Ye gods!' he heard Gillette shout as they, too, strove to stop themselves being thrown overboard. And then Norrington heard the most chilling sound of all…a terrified, panicking marine, shouting, 'man overboard! Man overboard!'

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AN: did you notice my _blatant _lack of any nautical knowledge in this chapter? I'm reading 'Master and Commander' at the moment, and I can barely understand a word of the wretched thing…all these different sails and types of ship. Well, nevertheless, the main point is…disaster on the horizon! Tune in shortly for wet!Norrie and other such delicacies. dd xx 


	17. Chapter 17

AN: no prizes for guessing who went plummeting from the deck of the _Dauntless_. A gratuitous chance to see wet!Norrie being all heroic and stuff. I know you've probably all seen DMC by now (sniff! I must wait until my sisters break up from school, they will murder me if I go without them), but in case you still feel the need for civilised!Norrie, allow me to oblige…dd xx

* * *

17

Norrington's mind was deadened with fear and panic. He did not need the keening cries of the other two women to know that it had been Miss Groves who had plunged from the slippery deck. Looking desperately towards Port Royal, he could see that the other four boats were already nearing land and much too far away to hear his calls for aid.

There was little time to think, though he felt an overwhelming sense of terror at the thought that Miss Groves was drowning even as he delayed, and he removed his sodden great coat and his embellished brocade jacket before similarly hurling himself into the black, churning waters.

He heard Gillette's crazed entreaties to stop as he fell, but could only see Miss Groves' shy smile before him, a candle to his moth-like desperation as he hit the numbingly cold water.

It was strangely quiet underwater. Looking up, he could see the surface swirling above him, but the dark depths were still and eerily silent. His eyes, stinging in the salt water, swiftly caught sight of Miss Groves' light green dress billowing in her watery surroundings.

His frantically kicking legs would not move fast enough – they felt leaden as he swam towards her sinking form, and his rapidly emptying lungs were burning.

Underwater, she was beautiful. Far more wonderful than the youthful prettiness on land. The loose tendrils of her hair were suspended lightly in the water, and clouded around her pale face gently, creating a dark halo. Her closed eyes seemed peaceful and serene, and Norrington felt it would be a blessing indeed to wake with that face beside him each morning.

His irrational musings hindered him as he grasped at her falling body, and hauled her agonisingly slowly towards the surface. The dress weighed her down, and Norrington found his legs tangled in her skirts as he tried to kick and thereby propel them towards fresh air.

It was a cruel irony that, when he surfaced, gulping the air thirstily, he found the storm had at last abated. It was still raining, but the sea was much calmer and the sharp forks of lightning no longer split the sky. He trod water for a moment, regaining his breath, keeping Miss Groves' lolling head above water.

'Miss Groves!' he gasped croakily. She did not stir in his arms, and, though he found some vestige of strength in his tired bones to shake her a little, it was to no avail. Panic swelled within him again.

With a great feeling of relief and hope he saw Myers' boat steering towards them, all occupants pulling hard at the double oars. He waved feebly, his other arm tucked around the limp woman's tiny waist.

The boat drew nearer, and eager hands reached out to haul the unconscious girl into the boat. The Commodore clasped the outstretched arms gladly, and let his men pull him, too, into the hull, where he lay, panting heavily, for several moments, while two marines attempted to bring Miss Groves round.

Lying in the bottom of the small boat, hearing the frantic calls and shouts of the men and women aboard as though he were still underwater…somehow distant and muffled, Norrington watched the grey, oppressive sky swell above him. There seemed to be so little urgency anymore…he was floating on a bed of exhaustion. He thought of Miss Groves' dress swelling and billowing in the water as she sank, and felt again the frailty of her wrist as he finally caught hold of her.

Then he heard her coughing, and somehow his body galvanised itself into action, and he was his usual decisive, commanding self, kneeling in a pool of dirty water and helping her to sit up, hitting her back lightly as she expelled water.

'Are you alright?' he asked, his voice a little higher and quicker than he intended.

She nodded between frenetic coughing.

'Pull harder, men!' Norrington called to the sailors already exerting themselves at the oars. 'Miss Groves must not catch a chill.' He looked down at her breathing raggedly, curled pitifully in the bottom of the boat, and willed the land to draw nearer more quickly.

She looked up at him, her hair matted and plastered to her ashen face, her eyes red from the sting of the salt water. Her weak smile was to Norrington as though the sun had dared to make an impromptu appearance. He suddenly saw her sinking away from him further into the darkness, and caught his breath in the realisation that he had saved her, that she would be there to smile at him thus in days to come.

All occupants of the boat were thoroughly wet by the time they reached the long pier of Port Royal. It seemed an agonisingly long time before they were tethered and secure, and the marines could help Miss Groves ashore.

She stood, her lovely dress sodden and clinging to her legs, shivering wildly. Norrington could see Groves running towards them down the thin wooden walkway, anxiety scrawled across his face. As he sprang from the boat himself, his legs unusually shaky, he saw Miss Groves give a small gasp and faint quietly away.

Despite his own fatigued state, the sight of her waist drooping like a young willow drove him forwards and, improbably, he caught her in his arms and felt the press of her lithe young body against his damp shirt, and discerned the quickened pace of her heart against him.

Again, he thought idly that he could stay this way forever, with Miss Groves protected and warmed by his tight embrace…but her ice cold face and blue lips forced him into reality and pragmatism.

'My office!' he shouted, still holding her clasped against him, feeling the dead weight of her limp body slump into his chest. 'Bring me hot wine and blankets!' he added swiftly, gathering the small figure up in his arms, cradling her lolling head against his arm, and stalking as rapidly as possibly down the pier towards the fort. The marines followed dutifully in his wake, although many of them were also shivering and could hardly grip the ropes to tie the boats securely.

It was a matter of seconds before he reached the door of his small office, but it seemed an age to the Commodore, whose own exertions had tired him thoroughly. His legs seemed like jelly and were sluggish as he made the last few steps towards a dry, warm haven away from the pounding rain.

The door closed behind him silently, and he savoured the sudden stillness – away from the mad, whirling world, with only this woman in his arms, this woman stirring very slightly and opening her brilliant eyes like an infant, for the first time. He laid her reverently on the large leather couch by the fire, immediately feeling the void left by her little body. Now that she was out of danger, he suddenly blushed to be alone with her, to see her dress cling to her so tightly, to see her so vulnerable and small in the chair in which he himself had so often slept.

'I…I have sent for hot wine and blankets, Miss Groves,' he said haltingly, retreating into the shadows by his desk in confusion, distancing himself from her prostate form.

She nodded slowly, and brought one cyanosed hand up to her temple to brush the straggly tendrils of hair away, but found it was shaking too violently. She bit her lip and looked utterly miserable, so that Norrington could not stay away and watch her shiver mutely. He pulled his best coat down from its peg and placed it softly around her shoulders, tucking it around her thin white arms.

'Is that better?' he asked, his voice automatically low and soothing. He intended to move back to his guarded position by his maps and books, but found that the fear and misery in her dark eyes compelled him to kneel down beside her.

'I…Commodore…I am so very sorry…I have caused you so much trouble today…I…' her voice was hoarse and evidently close to tears, and Norrington flinched to think that she might feel guilty.

'Miss Groves, please…' he said hopelessly, aimlessly. 'Do not apologise…I…' he realised his voice was beginning to run away with him, in the old familiar way he felt with Elizabeth (in days that seemed so distant at that moment). 'I could not have faced your brother had you perished,' he finished lamely. She nodded, unable to stop hot tears from chasing down her smeared cheeks, and looked at her lap, refusing to meet his gaze.

They sat in silence for several moments, and her shivering abated gradually. Norrington watched her thin face, and wondered what it was he had truly meant to say…that he could not have lived had he reached for her vanishing hand and seen her sink away forever? Seeing the reassuring rise and fall of her bosom, and hearing her gentle breath in the otherwise silent room forced him to realise that it was so. On an impulse, he stretched out a trembling hand and brushed the wet hair out of her eyes, tucked it tenderly behind one dainty ear.

At his touch, she did not start, but looked at him from the corner of her tear-stained eyes. He managed, though his throat felt tight and dry, to smile wanly.

The door opened, and Groves came in, his young face worried, carrying a steaming goblet of wine.

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AN: ah, I love it. as my friend Alex inexplicably said to me the other day, 'I love it like Xabi Alonso loves Steven Gerrard.' I just raised one contemptuous eyebrow at her and patted her condescendingly on the head, bless her. Anyway, returning to le fic – will Alicia catch pneumonia? Will she be forced to leave the town to recuperate in the far-off hills? Will Norrington be consumed by his own depressive thoughts? All will be revealed in the course of several chapters…dd xx 


	18. Chapter 18

AN: I am _so _confused…it thought the release of DMC, with all the Scruffington goodness within, would lead to less interest in the Commodore-ish incarnation of Norrie, rather than more. But I opened my email inbox this morning, to be fairly bombarded with reviews. It fair brought a tear to my eye, I tell thee. More of the same, please, and I will love you all forever. And I majorly love this here chapter, though I say it myself. Caring!Norrie…hard to beat. Love, dd xx

And classicslover, this is for you. You never fail to brighten up my day!

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18

The weather had brightened considerably by the end of that week, so that Norrington was able to ride the short distance to the _Royal Oak, _rather than order the cumbersome carriage.

News of the disastrous return journey from the island had spread rapidly through the town, but of far greater interest to the female population of the port were the Commodore's heroics in rescuing Miss Alicia Groves from certain death. The rumours swelled to such great proportions that many were convinced he had wrested her from the jaws of a gruesome sea monster in order to bring her safely back home.

Norrington hoped Miss Groves was aware of the true situation, and that she had disregarded these romanticised rumours, as he rode up to the door of the inn to be greeted by a rather dishevelled looking Groves.

'Good God, Groves, you look a sight,' Norrington said bluntly as he dismounted.

'I have been minding my sister as she slept, Commodore,' Groves replied, summoning several stable hands to tend to the magnificent stallion.

'She is not much improved, then?' Norrington kept his voice as steady as he could, for his heart was racing a little, although he chose to attribute this to the ride from his estate. He had visited earlier in the week, to be told that Miss Groves was running a high fever and was far too ill to receive visitors.

'The fever has abated a little,' Groves explained as they climbed the narrow stairs up to their suite, 'and Elinor has been wonderful in caring for her…Doctor Phillips is anxious that we move out of the town as soon as possible, for the benefit of the country air.'

Norrington nodded. 'I fear for her, Groves,' he said candidly. 'She is young, but I worry that her constitution is not robust enough for this climate.'

Groves dropped his voice as they stood outside the makeshift hospital. 'Frankly, Commodore, I intend to move to the estate I have purchased by tomorrow evening. She will not last in such surroundings…' he gestured at the tightly packed houses in the streets outside.

Norrington removed his hat as he entered the room behind the anxious brother. Miss Groves was propped up on deep feather pillows, and well covered in colourful blankets and a silk bed-jacket. These vivid fabrics only served to accentuate the unhealthy pallor of her skin, and the dull gleam in her red-rimmed eyes. She looked entirely exhausted, and it was all the Commodore could do not to cross to her side and embrace her.

She lifted her head laboriously as they entered the room, and seemed somewhat happier to see Norrington, for she attempted a smile. Elinor, sitting with a bowl of water and cooling sponge by her bedside, and looking as dishevelled and drained as her husband, rose to greet the Commodore.

She stood close to the two men to explain the circumstances. 'Commodore Norrington,' she whispered fretfully, 'I am sure Alicia appreciates your visit very much…but you must not mind if she is unable to receive you for long. As you see, she is still gravely ill. I hope Theodore has informed you of our…intentions…' she bit her lip and glanced at her sister-in-law.

'Yes, indeed, madam,' Norrington replied in a low voice, taking in the rumpled clothing and tear-tracks on the face of the woman before him. 'I understand entirely, Mrs Groves. If I can be of _any _assistance…I wish to express…nothing will be of any inconvenience if I can secure Miss Groves' return to full health.' He gazed intensely at Mrs Groves, wondering if she understood the affection which moved him to pledge such great dedication.

Instead of replying, she sniffed loudly and turned away to hide her tears. Glancing uneasily at her husband, Norrington saw that Groves indicated he should approach the invalid.

Slowly, he sank down in the hard chair next to her bed, placing his hat on his knee. With a great effort, Miss Groves turned her head towards him and smiled again, her cracked lips barely lifting upwards. She raised her hand to her brother and waved weakly.

'You wish to be alone, sister?' Groves asked in confusion.

'Please…please…' she whispered almost imperceptibly. Her voice was hoarse and it was evidently a struggle for her to speak.

Groves looked uneasy, but, glancing at his wife, complied with Miss Groves' request and left the room behind Elinor, throwing a concerned look loaded with meaning at the Commodore before he closed the door quietly.

There was silence in the sick-room, during which Norrington looked uncomfortably at his knee and registered the difficult, heavy way in which Miss Groves breathed, a long, rasping sound that spoke of her dangerous fever.

'Miss Groves…I cannot express how distressing it is to see you in such a state of poor health,' he said, still gazing at his lap. 'I am…so very sorry that my ineptitude…my negligence allowed for your fall…I have already assured your brother of my very real wish to ensure your full recovery by any means possibly…I hope…I hope you will accept my sincere apology…and my wishes to see you returned to your former vivacity and…beauty.' He felt, for once, that he did not regret his somewhat forward words, and looked up to see her reaction.

He was alarmed to note that she was crying silently, and trying to speak. She motioned hopelessly at a glass by her bedside, and Norrington was only too happy to raise the chilled glass to her parched lips and let her drink of the refreshing water.

'Please…' she begged again. 'No…no apologies, Commodore. I…I owe my life to you…and…I could not owe it to anyone better…' her tears were still falling as she spoke, and Norrington, his heart racing and his head spinning wildly, suddenly felt emboldened.

He reached a hand out slowly, as he had done in the solitude of his office, when she had lain, soaking wet and trembling on the couch, and wiped away her tears gently. He ran a tender thumb over her lovely, wan cheek, and hesitantly stroked her jaw, also dampened by her unchecked tears.

Strengthened by the water, or by his touch, Norrington knew not which, Miss Groves raised a hand to beckon him closer. He leant in towards her hushed voice.

'They are taking me away…' she said with a great effort, and with great sadness.

'I know,' he replied solemnly, in an equally quiet voice.

She hesitated, and looked into his green eyes, and saw concern and undefined affection. 'You will write to me, Commodore?' she asked shyly, her weak voice cracking a little.

'Every day,' he promised, his soothing hand stopping lightly on her high cheekbone. 'And…when you are fully recovered…I will visit you at your new plantation.' He smiled kindly at her.

'Thank you…' she whispered, suddenly embarrassed to be so close to him. 'Thank you, Commodore…for….for being so good to me, always…' Norrington sensed that she was exhausted by their exchange, and rose slowly, bending over her still body to kiss the hand resting on the bedspread.

As he exited the room, she was already falling into the throes of sleep, and he was aware that, given her current precarious state, this might be the last time he ever saw her alive.

He walked round to the stables, deep in thought, and prayed earnestly that he might have more time to appreciate, as he had not troubled to do before, the character and charm of a woman now most beloved to him.

* * *

AN: so, he's finally admitting his feelings to himself. That it took him 18 chapters is fairly indicative of the male psyche. Strewth. Much Pride and Prejudice-style letter correspondence is on its way. Have fun watching the World Cup final tomorrow, anyone who's concerned. I, sadly, will be playing my cello and handing out drinks instead of cheering on Gianluigi Buffon and his shapely behind. Life can be very, very cruel at times. dd xx 


	19. Chapter 19

AN: ah, bless you _all _for your kind reviews! I am fairly overcome by emotion (not to the extent of my sister Rebecca yesterday, who was _sobbing _because Zinedine Zidane disgraced himself in the World Cup Final. But she's quite a sensitive soul generally…), I assure you. And, as promised, I bring correspondence goodness…I often wish I had a nice country gentleman to send letters to. However, I do not, so I while away my days writing rather enjoyable twaddle about our favourite Commodore. And no, I still haven't seen DMC. Sob. dd xx

* * *

19

Norrington was listless in the days that followed, after he had watched Miss Groves being helped into a carriage, and waved sadly as the train of carts and carriages took the family away into the country.

He was greatly distracted by the thought of his own impotence to help her personally, and was aggravated by his reliance upon the brief reports of Miss Groves' progress, which seemed to be alarmingly slow.

It became his daily routine to write his first letter of the day while still in his dressing-gown, often dripping hot tea on the parchment, in his haste to write to Miss Groves with firmly expressed concern for her health. He found it difficult to write of his life in the town, finding nothing in the monotony of his naval duties to amuse the patient, but instead attempted to recall humorous snippets of Port Royal life he had overheard, despite the fact that his own heart was heavy and sombre with anxiety.

For weeks, he found himself writing these brief yet sincere letters with only scribbled and unsatisfying notes from Groves in reply – _My sister is slowly recovering and thanks you for your letter; Alicia is still not able to sit up, but was cheered when I read out your latest correspondence _and so on. Norrington found himself becoming ever more frustrated by these bland reports, and by the absence of any contact with Miss Groves. With alarm and a little curiosity, he found that he thought of very little else, even when he was poring over important documents and charts.

Thus it was the source of great internal excitement and happiness when one day, around a month and a half after the disastrous island trip, he descended the stairs of his home to find, instead of Groves' usual short note, a letter in the hand of Miss Groves herself.

Barely able to suppress his pleasure at this evident sign of her increasingly improved situation, he nearly choked on his tea and toast as he slit the seal and began to read.

_Dear Commodore, _read the letter,

_Today I was finally able to sit up and read for myself the countless letters from you during my convalescence. I confess your distress on my part fairly reduced me to tears, and I fear that this brief note is inadequate thanks for the care you have shown me ever since I arrived in the Caribbean, but most of all in recent weeks. I write to reassure you that I am now out of danger, although still suffering with a bad cold. I am very happy to be able to reply to your kind letters in person now. Please do tell me more of life in Port Royal – although the estate is beautiful and the air greatly beneficial to an invalid such as myself, I find I miss the bustle and variety of life in the town considerably. _

_I await your reply anxiously,_

_Miss A. Groves_

Thereafter, Norrington's daily anguish and worry subsided, and he was able to conduct his affairs with a much lighter heart. He settled into a pleasing and comfortable correspondence with Miss Groves, who was convalescing at a much more satisfactory rate.

_Dear Miss Groves,_

_I was happy to hear of your continuing recovery, and send you a bunch of bananas from my orchard, which I have heard tell often help with colds. A word of warning: check the end before you eat it, for I believe spiders have a tendency to make themselves little nests therein. The weather on the sea-front continues to be excellent. Two days ago, a family of most rare parrots took up residency in the forest near the fort. I am sure you would have been enraptured with them: the plumage of the male was identical to the damask dress you wore on your arrival in Port Royal._

_I hope you enjoy the bananas,_

_J. Norrington_

_Dear Commodore Norrington,_

_I thank you: the bananas were indeed delicious, and I have entreated Theodore to plant some trees in our own plantation. I am sure your kind gift (and the lemon tea I have been consuming in obscene quantities) has contributed to my current state of good health. Yesterday I was finally able to arise from my bed and walk in the garden, which affords excellent views over the entire countryside – a very different prospect to the bay of Port Royal. Theodore has high ambitions for this estate, and has already commenced the construction of a new stable-block. I have learnt a great deal about the cotton business already, although I confess it makes my head ache somewhat! As you know, my usual reading matter is much less intellectual – I enclose my favourite example for your perusal and diversion._

_I trust you remain well, and are busy in the fort,_

_Miss A. Groves_

_Dear Miss Groves,_

_I was indeed diverted by 'The Romance of the Rose', far more so than by any nautical report that found its way to my desk this week. Young women must indeed find the other sex a disappointment in reality, if they grow up expecting such amorous and passionate advances from men. I was greatly relieved to hear of your full recovery – no doubt you will be helping your brother very much in the running of the plantation within weeks. Please pass on my compliments to Mr Groves, along with the best wishes of the regiment, who miss him dreadfully, as do I. I am sure he will be saddened to hear that several of my best officers (including your brother's particular friend Lt. Lowry) have been posted away to New South Wales. I confess I am largely ignorant of this region of the globe, but, having read my atlas and encyclopaedia a little, believe it to be a varied and interesting place, like our current home. _

_With renewed wishes for further favourable reports on your health, _

_James Norrington_

_Dear Commodore,_

_I am so glad you liked the romantic novel – I recall clearly a conversation we had weeks ago in which you confessed that you had never read anything of that genre before. Now you are truly educated in the field of modern literature! All have been busy here on the plantation, with the appointment of several hands to help with the cultivation of the cotton, all of whom seem very agreeable and willing. Theodore, I believe, is much aided by my good health, for he no longer needs to care for me, and can spend long hours riding around the estate, overseeing the frenetic building programmes. I myself am content – infinitely more so in recent days, for I was fortunate enough to take delivery of a beautiful pianoforte for my enjoyment. Having not played since leaving England, I find myself engrossed by this new diversion, and am anxious to know the identity of my generous and anonymous benefactor. You must visit the estate soon to hear this instrument, though I fear I will be completely unable to do it justice._

_With fond regards,_

_Alicia Groves_

_Dear Miss Groves,_

_I should indeed be delighted to visit the Groves residence once I am assured that you are fully recovered, and once your brother can spare some time from his improvements and business dealings. Please discount me from your search for the donator of your new pianoforte, for I had no idea that you played. However, I hope the enclosed sheet music will complement the gift well, and hope to hear you sing when next we meet. I confess I have been most slothful in my pursuit of the marvellous art of music – since my promotion to the office of Commodore, my cello has lain idle in my house. Perhaps our shared passion for music can inspire some new enthusiasm in me. I look forward to hearing you play very soon, and wish you good luck in the hunt for your benefactor._

_James Norrington_

* * *

AN: I blatantly rip off Jane Austen's 'Emma' here, with the whole pianoforte thing. So…I should probably disclaim that. Anyway, next chapter sees Elizabeth take matters into her own hands. Fare thee well for now and apologies if I don't update _quite _so regularly, as my friends from Germany are arriving today for a week, dd xx

PS. Ellie (if you're reading this)…as you know, I'm of the British persuasion. I lived in Minnesota for a couple of years when I was very young, but have only ever returned to the US once since then. While we spent most of that vacation in Washington, D.C., we also paid a visit to…guess where? Yup, Colonial Williamsburg. So I was majorly freaked out by your review, I must say. I love that place, but sad to say I cannot remember the Huzzah! eatery. I must one day return and visit that hallowed restaurant, if only for the comic value.


	20. Chapter 20

AN: so, here we go, more Norrington bemoaning his lack of social skills. So in that respect he's a lot like me. On another note, let me once again express my extreme gratitude for all your lovely reviews, and once again curse the fact that I _still _haven't seen DMC. Hmph. Hope you enjoy… dd xx

* * *

20

Privately, Norrington was almost certain he knew the identity of the mysterious donor of the pianoforte. Surely during their lengthy and animated discourse at Elizabeth's betrothal party, Frederick Armitage had managed to ascertain far more about Miss Alicia Groves than Norrington had in their stilted and awkward intercourse over the months.

Some of the old insecurities Norrington had set aside in the joy of his renewed correspondence with Miss Groves resurfaced – his fear that he knew so little about the young woman, and she so little about him, that they could never benefit each other. He regretted once more his stiff public reticence that allowed young men such as Armitage to impose themselves on a woman to whom he was becoming increasingly attached, even in her absence.

The days passed sluggishly, with the usual polite, restrained letters being dispatched from both the plantation and Norrington's house, yet there was still no sign of an invitation to dine at the plantation, although by all accounts Miss Groves was in full health and playing an active role in the running of the estate.

The Commodore was alarmed to find that this state of affairs was tormenting him far more than it should have a man of thirty-four with ample life experience behind him. He was unable to understand the emotions which saw him lie awake for hours at a time, staring dully at nothing, trying to recall the exact enchanting shade of her eyes. He would persecute himself with hideous thoughts of Armitage singing romantic duets with her, dining three evenings a week around the Groves' table, a part of the family, while he slowly decomposed in the loneliness of Port Royal.

He began to lose weight rapidly, to neglect his appearance and even occasionally his career in favour of pacing in his room thinking of Miss Groves, or reading Shakespeare's sonnets until his eyes ached from straining in the muted candle light.

All of this he kept secret from Miss Groves in his painfully cheerful letters, and attributed his perpetually worried, haggard expression to the persistent liberty of the notorious Jack Sparrow, when questioned by concerned officers.

However, there was one interrogation he could not avoid.

Three months had passed since the torture of the betrothal celebration at the Governor's house, and Norrington, in truth, when he received Miss Swann's cordial invitation to take afternoon tea one Tuesday, was somewhat surprised that the request had not arrived earlier. It was evidently Elizabeth's great compassion and understanding of his feelings that had postponed any potentially awkward encounters between the two until a later date.

The Commodore dressed carefully for the rendezvous, and rode slowly to the large white house, expecting to feel the customary jolt of desire and nerves as he was shown into the grand parlour, where Elizabeth sat, but instead feeling a great rush of gratitude towards her.

She was dressed in a pale blue dress, much more simple than the blancmanges her father often insisted upon her wearing in public. The dress complemented her youthful figure, and brought out the tints in her hair and the sparkle in her eyes perfectly. Norrington felt how inferior he must look, with his tired-looking face and slightly dejected posture. She evidently saw the marked difference in his appearance, for her radiant face was filled with compassion and concern.

'Come, sit down, Commodore,' she said gently, rising and leading him by both hands to a comfortable winged chair.

'Thank you,' he said gratefully, noting how easy it was, suddenly, to talk to this woman.

They exchanged casual pleasantries about the weather and other banalities until the manservant brought in a tinkling trolley laden with small, light cakes and delicate cups and saucers.

As Elizabeth deftly poured scalding tea into the cups, she scrutinised the Commodore. Norrington felt mildly uncomfortable under her critical gaze.

'You are not well, James,' she said, as though chastising a small child. 'I hope you have not been over-working yourself.'

'No indeed, Miss Swann,' he replied truthfully. 'I own…I have been a little preoccupied of late…which may well account for my rather worn appearance.'

'It would take more than a mild preoccupation to divest you of your regal stature, James,' Elizabeth assured him, passing him a steaming cup, and touching his arm lightly. Rather than jump at the intimacy, he smiled back at her and felt the confidence she inspired renew him.

'Elizabeth…' it was somehow natural to call her by her Christian name after so many years of formality. 'I…I wonder if you could offer me some advice…as a woman.'

Elizabeth positively glowed with pride and satisfaction. 'Ah…I knew there must be an explanation for your sadness, sir. May I be so bold as to presume that the cause of your present distress is…Miss Alicia Groves?'

Norrington, annoyed though he was at having been so quickly understood in such a great secret, could not find it within himself to scowl at Elizabeth. He merely nodded, and waited as she leant in conspiratorially.

'So…I presume you have not seen her since her unfortunate accident?'

'I…I paid her a brief visit before Lieutenant…Mr Groves, I should say, removed his entire family to the country for the sake of her convalescence.'

'And have you corresponded with the young lady in her absence?'

'Indeed I have.'

Elizabeth sat back in joy. 'James…this is wonderful! I simply _knew_ she would be the one to make you happy. My father agreed…when he saw you together at the party, he confided to me…he said "Elizabeth…now _that _is a perfect match." And now I find we were both correct.' She beamed happily.

'A perfect match?' Norrington stared dejectedly into his tea. 'I fear not.'

'Any why this uncertainty, James?' Elizabeth demanded. 'From what I hear, she is very taken with you. And such a lengthy correspondence…I am sure she feels your absence as keenly as you do hers.'

'I cannot share your optimism, Elizabeth,' the Commodore replied. 'I fear…her friendship with me is the result of gratitude for my rescue of her.'

'Nonsense, James!' his companion said, wiping her mouth daintily after biting into a small piece of angel cake. 'Did you not mark the way she held herself in your presence long before that disaster? I must boast, James…I was entirely right in supposing some partiality from the lady in question. Was I not?'

'But…we have nothing in common…we have such vastly different intellects and interests…and I…my character, my temper…I am hardly an agreeable and pleasant companion.'

It was Elizabeth's turn to be silent at his insecurity and self-loathing. 'James,' she said slowly. 'Please listen to me, James…a woman such as Alicia Groves, shy and delicate as she is, could want for no better companion in life than yourself. Your strength and great compassion will balance her withdrawn character perfectly. And besides…though you may not know every small nuance and particular of her interests and tastes at present, surely married life is the ideal state for you to explore each other's habits and preferences at your leisure.' She sipped at her tea sweetly, looking intensely at the Commodore as she did so.

He, meanwhile, was choking on his own tea. 'Married life, Elizabeth? I never said I wanted to _marry _the girl…I have only known her four months!'

'Don't be silly, James,' she returned, raising her eyebrows. 'Why else would you trouble yourself so over a woman, if not because you have intentions for a permanent connection? Even if,' she added thoughtfully, 'you have not yet admitted these intentions to yourself yet…'

Norrington was silenced by her assured tone of voice. He chewed his biscuit, deep in contemplation. Elizabeth's words had caused a blinding revelation…a sudden realisation that, subconsciously, he _had _indeed been thinking of Miss Groves as a partner for the rest of his life.

It was odd, he thought, that his idle imaginings had placed her more far firmly and accurately into the framework of his life than his visualization of Elizabeth, in the distant days of his infatuation with her. It was clear to him now, sitting beside her comfortably and rejoicing in her sisterly affection, that any romantic love he had felt for Elizabeth Swann was outshone and surpassed by the shattering devotion he now recognised.

He looked shrewdly at his former fiancée. 'Elizabeth…' he said slowly, 'I must thank you…for teaching a foolish old man things he should have had the sense to know himself…' he smiled wryly.

She returned his smile. 'You are not old, James. You are a wonderful man, and will make a wonderful husband…and if Alicia Groves has not wisdom enough to see that, then she does not deserve you.'

The sunlight streaming into the large parlour, sparkling from the silver tea set, seemed delightfully appropriate for the great contentment Norrington felt flooding into his soul. He drained his cup and rose.

'Elizabeth…you are…you have wisdom far, far beyond your years,' he said warmly. She rose to stand close to him, smiling tenderly. 'Look at us now…you _knew_, Elizabeth Swann, you _knew _what was right for the both of us…and…things might have transpired so differently…I…I owe my present happiness to you. I realise that you have long been a sister to me…'

Once again, he felt her young arms around his neck, but this time in tender, tempered affection, an embrace that promised life-long friendship and comfortable companionship. He did not draw away, but lifted one hand to touch her thin shoulders, realising he had not held a woman in such a relaxed fashion since his cousin nearly a decade ago in rainy England.

'James…I feel my own happiness is complete now I see you about to find your life fulfilled,' she whispered gently in his ear.

They stood apart from each other, wishing each other well without any of the former discomfort. Norrington rode away from the house with his head clear, save for a new resolution to woo Miss Groves with definite intent, and with no more reserve and avoidance of feelings he now acknowledged to have existed for weeks.

* * *

AN: okies, the next chapter sees life on the plantation continuing as normal, until Groves invites the man of the moment to dinner. Hope you all have a great day, love dd xx 


	21. Chapter 21

AN: no, I _still _haven't watched it…but to console myself I'm writing away furiously…when I'm not drinking myself into an early grave with my friends from Germany. Man, those gals know how to down it…dd xx

* * *

21

He spent the days following his audience with Elizabeth in a state of bliss, his heart considerably lightened by the comprehension that he was in love with Miss Alicia Groves. This joyful mental condition hindered his work as Commodore far less than his previous melancholy, but he found it nevertheless rather difficult to focus on trivialities of business and diplomacy when his heart so much desired to ride to the plantation and ask in no uncertain terms for her lifelong commitment to him.

The correspondence between the two continued in much the same vein, although the Commodore took to signing his letters 'James' in a bold sign of his increasing regard for the recipient. Miss Groves, meanwhile, took great solace in tying the precious papers in a hair ribbon and stashing them beneath her pillow.

She was now fully recovered, and in a perpetual state of ennui in the provincial estate. She would wander in the lush gardens during the morning, and often took tea beneath the shade of a willow, reading, or staring silently at the distant sea, wondering what escapades her Commodore was undertaking on the _Dauntless. _

Her brother had noticed a gradual change in her comportment during the weeks of her recovery – her withdrawn little frown was replaced with a dreamy, far-off look that Groves could not understand. He was, at any rate, too late a riser to intercept the post, which invariably brought with it a carefully sealed letter from one J. Norrington. Thus he was unaware of the continuing and developing relationship between his old friend and his younger sister.

Miss Groves was careful not to mention the name of her friend to her brother, for she had enough experience of his interference in her life even as a young girl in England to realise that his intervention could only be of detriment to any progress she might have made. However, she was by no means certain of any defined connection between herself and the Commodore.

His letters were always polite and interesting, and continued long after she was recovered, and it was true that he had begun to sign himself 'James', as though he were an old and familiar acquaintance (something which gave Miss Groves great cause for happiness and hope, though she dared not return the compliment and end her letters 'Alicia') – however, unaccustomed as she was to any interest from the opposite sex, she could not discern his precise intentions.

In truth she was nervous to meet him again, though she knew she could not postpone the promised invitation to hear her play much longer. She thought it must appear rude and apathetic to her correspondent, and fought with herself to restrain the impassioned words which threatened to spill onto the paper.

She knew it would be highly improper to write such confessions of adoration and esteem to a man such as James Norrington, with his regal composure and high status in Port Royal. He could hardly be impressed by childish declarations of love, and so she refrained from telling the truth, but instead continued with her banal, safe stories of new arrivals at the estate, and progress in the building schemes.

It was Groves himself who provided her with the opportunity to see the Commodore again. Having forgotten any past designs for his friend and sister, Groves invited Norrington to dine with them purely as an old and valued friend.

This fact he announced rather abruptly at breakfast one morning.

'Elinor, dear, the Commodore is coming to dinner tomorrow evening, so please be sure to order enough wine.' He returned to his newspaper, unaware of the shock on his younger sister's face.

'Commodore…Commodore Norrington?' Miss Groves enquired, trying to keep her voice steady.

'How many other Commodores do we know, Lissy?' her brother replied somewhat impatiently. 'Haven't seen the man for aeons, and I'm sure he'll want to take a gander at the estate. Besides…he'll be happy to see you're better. He wrote you a fair few letters when you were ill, do you remember? You'll have to thank him for saving your life, won't you?' he tapped his boiled egg jauntily.

Miss Groves stared silently into space. The Commodore, at the estate! At the same dining table…perhaps sitting at her side, passing her the decanter of wine. She wondered if he would truly like to hear her play and sing…or whether his gift of sheet music had been merely a courtesy.

She was barely able to think straight that day or the next, her mind reeling with the thought of seeing him again after so long an absence. She felt that something intangible had shifted between them, at least on her part, though she would not be able to confirm this until she found herself once more face to face with him. It was with shame and trepidation that she remembered her appearance on the occasion of their previous meeting.

The thought of her gaunt face and faded eyes as she lay on her sickbed spurred her on to spend fretful hours before the glass in preparation for the Commodore, tying her hair this way and that, applying and removing rouge, practising her most charming smile.

It was in this state of despair that Elinor Groves found her some thirty minutes before the Commodore was due to arrive, sitting dejected at her dressing table, sobbing petulantly over a selection of hair ribbons.

'Why, Alicia, whatever is the matter?' Elinor asked anxiously, crossing to her sister-in-law's side and patting her heaving shoulders comfortingly.

Miss Groves, unable to speak coherently, shook her head mutely and motioned for the older woman to leave her alone, but to no avail. Mrs Groves stayed at her side, dabbing at her swollen eyes and whispering soothingly, until she had calmed down sufficiently.

'Now, come, Alicia,' said Elinor, gripping the younger woman's wrists and looking her in the eye. 'I must know what is troubling you.'

Miss Groves looked distractedly about, biting her lip. 'These…these wretched ribbons!' she exclaimed miserably. 'I…I cannot fix my hair to my liking…' she added, shaking her head at the thought of how vain and petty she sounded.

'Alicia…look at yourself,' the other said sternly. 'You are destroying your lovely appearance with all this needless crying. Now, let me dry your eyes and fix your hair.'

Miss Groves screamed internally. She could not articulate her feelings, her desire to look perfect on this most significant of evenings. She continued to sob quietly, dabbing ineffectually at her eyes with a damp handkerchief.

'Look at me,' Elinor continued in a kindlier tone. 'What is _truly _troubling you, child? I will be your confidante, if you will allow me this privilege. After all, I am not so much older than you. Perhaps I can be of some assistance…' she looked questioningly into the face of the tearful young woman before her.

'No…no, Elinor,' replied her friend. 'You found…your happiness, your home long ago…I fear you cannot help me to capture mine…' she trailed off vaguely and twined some of the hateful ribbons around her quaking fingers.

Elinor looked puzzled, and let her hands drop from their grasp on Miss Groves' forearms while she contemplated what might have moved the other so. 'Your happiness, Alicia?' she repeated. 'You are _unhappy _here? I…I do apologise if I have done anything to make you feel unwelcome here…and I am sure Theodore…' she stopped as Miss Groves held up a hand to silence her.

'Not _you, _my sister…how could I ever bear ill-will towards someone who has cared for me so completely…no, it is _I, _fool that I am, who is the cause for my current distress.'

'I implore you, do not put yourself down so!'

'I have such…such hopes and expectations…and I…I want so badly…to make my brother proud…to entertain and please my…his guest…and yet I know I never can…look at me, Elinor…so bland, so puffy-eyed…I am nothing, no class of woman beside….beside Miss Swann and others of her rank.'

In a flash, Elinor Groves understood precisely her sister-in-law's distress. She remembered similar hours of frustration, deliberating over hairstyles and dresses, and dreading to be in the same room as Theodore Groves lest he find her repulsive, or worse, ask her cousin to dance.

She ran a motherly hand up and down the other's thin arm. 'Alicia,' she whispered gently, 'wear your hair down this evening. It looks so much nicer that way.' She rose and looked meaningfully at her companion, who gave her a watery smile. At the door, she turned, and in a voice full of sympathy, said, 'Commodore Norrington would not want you to change yourself…'

Miss Groves' shocked face was a picture as Elinor left the room, smiling to herself.

* * *

AN: I know _exactly _how Alicia feels here…whenever I know I'm going to see…Sharpie (don't ask)…I always feel hideously ugly. Hmph. Next chapter: a rather uncomfortable dinner party with a very unsatisfying ending. Such is life. Dd xx 


	22. Chapter 22

AN: sad, sad…my friends from Germany have gone home. And my life is _still _devoid of DMC goodness. However, I cheered myself up yesterday by watching 'Master and Commander: the Far Side of the World' yet _again_. And for you wonderful people who make me smile with your reviews, here is some Norrington for your perusal… dd xx

* * *

22

Norrington was favourably impressed with the size and exterior of the Groves' new home – a large white house fronted with fashionable ionic columns, with the beginnings of wisteria and ivy trickling over the finely carved balconies. He paused a moment after alighting from his carriage, to breathe in the scent of sensuous night flowers and to listen to the magical trickle of a fountain.

In contrast to the serenity of the shadowy gardens, the house itself was bustling. The inviting light of twinkling chandeliers enticed him towards the entrance hall, the huge double doors swinging open to reveal Theodore Groves, in his element as the generous host.

'James!' he exclaimed, advancing resplendent in a teal waistcoat heavy with embroidery to embrace his former superior. 'You look very well…'

'Don't lie, Theodore,' Norrington replied in good humour, handing his overcoat to the waiting butler. 'I'm improving, though…plenty of melons and so on, you know the form…ah, and here is Mrs Groves…you _do _look charming this evening, ma'am…' he bent low and kissed her hand, trying to focus his gaze on the finely dressed woman before him, and prevent his eyes from shifting to the empty stairs.

'Commodore,' she replied, curtseying neatly.

'Can I get you a drink, James?' Groves asked heartily, motioning him towards the parlour.

'That wouldn't go amiss, I confess,' Norrington said.

'Elinor, do you know when dinner will be served?' Groves addressed his wife.

As Mrs Groves turned to ask the serving-girl, Norrington caught sight of a little movement on the balcony above the stairs, and turned his head to see.

Miss Alicia Groves was carefully, slowly descending the stairs, looking anxious. Norrington felt his breath hitch – though he had known he must see her again that evening, he was not prepared to be faced so abruptly with her beauty. For she was beautiful, with her dark hair loose around her young face, and her gold dress foaming around her shoulders, revealing the perfect skin around her collarbones.

'Ah, Alicia, there you are!' Groves exclaimed as she descended the final step carefully. 'I was beginning to wonder where you'd got to…you spend far too much time preening, sister…'

Miss Groves blushed and looked at the floor, curtseying to the company. Before she could recover sufficiently to greet her brother's guest, the group began to move into the dining room. Norrington was aware that she was very close to him, and wondered if he should offer his arm to escort her into the dining room.

'Are you well, Commodore?' Miss Groves asked with a slightly brittle edge to her voice, as though she had been crying.

'Yes…yes, very well, I thank you,' he replied distractedly, gazing in wonder at the perfect curve of her ear. She felt his stare, and looked up, and Norrington saw that her eyes were red.

'I…I have missed you greatly, Commodore,' she said softly.

'And I you,' he replied as if in a daze. Automatically, instinctively, he reached out and kissed her hand lightly, feeling the velvet texture of her skin beneath his lips. 'I hope,' he continued, his head light and his mouth twisting his words, 'to hear you play later…I trust you enjoyed practising the pieces I sent?'

Miss Groves nodded briefly. 'I liked the Chilcott jig,' she said quietly. 'I would…very much like to play for you…whenever it is pleasing to you.'

Norrington paused for a moment in the hall once she had passed by him into the dining room, and thought how distant his former torment now seemed.

The Groves' dining room was very similar to the Commodore's own – but the difference in the atmosphere was remarkable. Whereas Norrington usually dined alone, by the light of one candle, a rushed meal without a table-cloth or any ceremony, the dinner he enjoyed that evening was a lavish affair worthy of a royal palace.

He watched in wonder as dish after dish was carried out, wafting delicious scents around the room. There were huge hams studded with fragrant cloves, whole salmons glazed with lemons, crystal bowls of crunchy salad, tiny boiled potatoes glistening with herby butter – all manner of good food.

The evening passed pleasantly, Norrington helping himself to the laden dishes, the meal perfectly complemented by bottles of Groves' vintage red wine. The scene was one of great domestic security and contentment, with the warm candle lights twinkling on the fine wine glasses and the dripping jewellery around the necks of the women.

He and Miss Groves shared sly, secret glances, or at least the Commodore imagined they did. He would catch her eye, as she lifted a morsel of crab meat to her small mouth, and they would both smile, and it was as though he could already hear the flowery notes dancing from the pianoforte under her slender fingers. He would pay for it to be removed to his house, he decided in his mad thoughts, and she could wake him each morning with scampering scales and complex vocal exercises.

The neglected morning-room, with heavy dust-sheets everywhere – he would have it placed there, in the streaming sunlight, and it would look well beside his cello, with music scattered all about. He wondered what colour would do for the walls…perhaps a happy, pastoral yellow. And the nursery…blue, perchance? He could hang her sketches there, above the old oak cot he himself slept in as an infant.

Lost in his magical fantasies, he sat in blissful silence, watching as Mr and Mrs Groves bickered good-naturedly and passed condiments to each other. Miss Groves – Alicia, he thought lovingly – was silent in contrast, delicately partaking of the banquet her brother had provided. It scared the Commodore a little to realise that he had been imagining their life together. He was unused to such wild self-indulgence, especially since he was yet to accurately gauge the feelings of his intended wife. His delight was tainted rather as he thought of the misery and humiliation of rejection, and he resolved not to build up his own hopes in such a foolish, madcap way again. He must wait…perhaps a few more hours. Perhaps it would be tonight…he could ask quietly to talk to her…

They were just beginning dessert, an improbably ornate concoction of rich chocolate and exotic fruits, when the scrunch of horses' hooves on the gravel outside was heard.

'Ah! Visitors, at this hour?' Groves mused out loud, half-rising in his chair.

The door of the dining room opened abruptly, revealing Midshipman Appleby, a thin boy of sixteen, exhausted and red-faced, with mud spattered up both legs. Without waiting to be introduced, he rushed up to the Commodore, who had paused in the act of pouring thick cream onto his dessert.

'Please, Commodore…Captain Gillette says I'm to fetch you post-haste…a shipwreck in the bay…you're needed really urgently, sir…' he panted raggedly, smoothing his tousled hair with one hand.

'All right, all right, Appleby, calm down,' the Commodore replied, rising from his seat and folding his napkin quickly. 'I'll be there presently. Mr Groves, Mrs Groves, Miss Groves, I fear I will be able to enjoy your hospitality no longer. I must apologise for this untimely interruption…'

Groves held up a hand, and rose, too. 'Don't apologise, sir. Your loyalty to your duty is, as ever, second to none. Come, I will lend you my horse…' he guided Norrington out of the room.

As he passed through the door, he looked over one shoulder and saw Alicia staring glumly into her bowl, one little hand fiddling nervously with her fork. Sensing his gaze on her, she looked up and met his eyes, and he tried to apologise to her silently. She looked down again, biting her lip.

Norrington felt utterly miserable as he followed Groves through the light rain and the dark to his new stable-block.

'You must come again, Commodore,' Groves said as Norrington mounted the handsome piebald energetically.

'Thank you, Theodore,' he replied from his mount. 'Please…apologise to your sister for me. I so very dearly wanted to hear her play this evening. I…please assure I will write to her shortly.'

He rode off quickly, fearing he had betrayed something of his tumultuous affection for Alicia to her brother, and wondering whether that would be altogether a negative thing.

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AN: I quite like Appleby, despite the fact that he's only in it for about 10 seconds. He's like a little brother or something…anyway, the next chapter sees a trip to church and a chance encounter with none other than the smarmy Freddy Armitage… dd xx 


	23. Chapter 23

AN: sorry, I'm a bit slow on the update today. Getting stuff ready for orchestra tour to Italy! And guess what _I'm _going to see today? At 11.00? not that I'm counting down the minutes or anything…dd xx

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23

Publicly, Norrington lauded Gillette for his swift action in sending for him when lives were potentially in danger, but internally he raged at the incompetence of the man. It had been a merchant vessel which was damaged by the reefs two miles out to sea, manned solely by strong, experienced male sailors quite capable of swimming the short distance in the calm waters. The ship was partially beached on one of the sandbars, and so much of the cargo was also able to be salvaged.

Norrington found it hard to believe that one of his most senior officers could not even coordinate a simple mission to aid the stranded sailors. However, he was entirely sensible that his rage was not at Gillette's ineptitude, but at the way in which what had been a perfect evening had been ruined.

He was almost certain, as he rode silently to church with the Swanns the next Sunday, that he would have proposed to Alicia that evening, or at the very least ascertained whether his feelings for her were reciprocated, had Appleby not burst into his reverie. As it was, he was left with no idea of her regard for him, and a horrible sense of listlessness as he attempted to contrive some plausible way of seeing her again socially.

Elizabeth seemed conscious of his poor temper, for she tried to cheer him up.

'You are coming to my father's birthday party, are you not, James?'

'Yes, indeed, Miss Swann,' he replied, glancing at the Governor, wondering what shade of red he would turn if Norrington dared to call his daughter 'Elizabeth'.

She raised her eyebrows in understanding of the fake formality between them.

'I am pleased to hear that. Will you be escorting Miss Alicia Groves, sir?' she winked girlishly. Norrington was alarmed to see the Governor prick his ears and listen in interest to this new gossip.

'I…could not say, madam…I was not aware I…' he blushed a little and sat back in the cramped carriage.

'Oho, Commodore, what's this?' Governor Swann demanded, poking his neighbour in the ribs. 'Miss Alicia Groves…Lizzy, is that not the dark-haired girl who was at your…'he broke off with a sly grin as his daughter nodded. 'And you…Commodore, you old dog! Is there to be a double wedding this summer?' he looked delighted at the prospect, and Norrington glared in mock disapproval at Elizabeth, slightly irritated at being referred to as an 'old dog'.

'I could not possibly comment, Governor,' he said quietly. 'Regardless of my own wishes, which I refuse to quantify, no matter how you entreat me, I remain a single man. Miss Alicia Groves is indeed an admirable young woman…and as thus may take her pick from the bachelors of Port Royal.' He heard Elizabeth snort in most unladylike disbelief, and he shot her a warning glance.

The rest of the carriage ride unfolded in silence, but Norrington could almost hear the cogs in the Governor's bewigged head whirring, digesting the latest gossip on the love life of a most eligible gentleman.

It was a slightly overcast day as they alighted from the carriage, Norrington handing Elizabeth down to Mr Turner, who was waiting for her with a broad grin on his young face.

'Mr Turner,' the Commodore greeted him genially, registering the mild shock on the blacksmith's face.

'Commodore. I trust you are well?'

'Very, I thank you. You are busy with wedding preparations, I presume?'

'I…' Turner searched for a diplomatic answer, seemingly unsure of why the Commodore was being so cordial. 'Yes…there is not a large enough marquee to be found for love or money this side of the Atlantic.'

Norrington laughed sincerely. 'Well, if you are short of chairs, be sure to send to my house for a few…I declare, I have never known anyone have so much furniture, but so few people in one's household to use the wretched stuff.' He raised his hat and entered the small church, greeting casual acquaintances along the way. It was odd, he thought, how a friendly chat with Elizabeth could put him in such good humour, and yet not prompt him to revert to his old desires for her.

The congregation had not yet fully assembled as he made his way to the front pew, where he sat as the foremost naval officer in the region. However, he noted one family he had not seen before, about halfway down the church – an elderly couple accompanied by who Norrington assumed to be their young son and daughter.

Just before he lost interest in the newcomers and proceeded to his own pew, he saw the daughter turn her head to listen to something the son whispered in her ear, and he realised with a jolt in his stomach that it was Alicia, dressed in lilac, leafing through her hymnbook and laughing at what the man had told her. He was about to cross over and greet her, when her companion turned to look around the church, and he saw that it was Frederick Armitage.

His face went white, and he suddenly felt very far away from the ground. Alicia, coming to church with _him, _as though she were already a part of his family. She looked so content and satisfied, sitting there, without him, perfectly fitting into the picture of the Armitage family, already symbolising the hope of the father's business.

He somehow managed to make his way to his own pew without looking back to see them giggling together, and sat down heavily, hating Gillette even more, imagining that Alicia might herself have been sitting beside him now, his betrothed, had it not been for the stupid shipwreck.

Elizabeth slid into the pew beside him and put a comforting hand on his arm.

'Freddy Armitage is a drunken swine,' she whispered hotly. 'Alicia Groves is not fool enough to be taken in by a philanderer such as he, for all his smiles and sensuous words.'

Norrington was not sure whether to be cheered by this, or sink further into despair because of his inability to think of a single 'sensuous' word, let alone murmur it in Miss Groves' ear. He tried desperately to focus on the service, pondering each and every word of the vicar's dull sermon on the merits of poverty, but could not help but feel an itch at the back of his head that made him yearn to turn around and look at her.

He intended to escape as soon as possible back to the fort after the service, to avoid talking to either of them if he could. However, his wish was not to be granted, for Alicia caught up with his long strides as he was leaving the churchyard, calling 'Commodore!' earnestly.

For once, he was in no mood for her happy smile and intense eyes, for Armitage was only a step or two behind her, and he immediately took Alicia's arm, although Norrington noticed that she looked less than pleased at this intimacy.

'Miss Groves,' he said, more curtly than he had intended, bowing shortly. 'Mr Armitage,' he added, not bothering to keep his voice civil. The other did not seem to notice, however, and began to talk jovially.

'Good service, eh, Norrington? I do like a nice provincial church, I do…a nice place to get wed, I'd say…though, of course, we'd neither of us know, would we? Old bachelors, both…'

'You are hardly old, Mr Armitage,' Norrington replied coldly, staring at the grey sky and wondering if he could make it to the fort on foot before it rained.

'Pshaw, man, a figure of speech! Neither are you, if it comes to that…maybe a little old for the tastes of a feisty young miss like Lizzy Swann…but you can't account for tastes these days, eh?' he winked roguishly.

The Commodore glanced at Alicia to see whether she found this talk amusing, and was gratified to see only sympathy in her eyes.

'I repeat what I said on our last meeting, sir,' Norrington said, hearing his voice rise, 'Miss Swann was right to refuse my offer. I am proud to count myself still among her closest friends.' He realised he was being haughty and snobbish, and could not give a damn.

Armitage raised his eyebrows conspiratorially. 'Closest friends, eh, James? Well, we'll see…I don't fancy facing that Will Turner with a sword if you get…_too _close to his missus-to-be, if you catch my drift…'

Norrington barely suppressed the sailor side of himself, which was screaming to let a tirade of obscenities and well placed punches at the younger man. The shock on Alicia's face at her companion's crude words was, however, enough to calm his rage, pleased he had found some solidarity.

Just as he was about to turn to leave, Armitage had the audacity to continue.

'You'll join us for a drink or three at the _Goose_, won't you, Jimmy my boy? My friends and I tend to while away the afternoons there, nursing a pint of Mrs Brown's finest. They'd like to meet an honest, tough seaman like yourself…what d'you say?'

Norrington was sorely tempted to make some sarcastic retort, accompanied by a sharp kick to the groin, but a mad urge to know his enemy and convince himself that Armitage was indeed an abrasive, unsavoury scoundrel seized him. He was scared he was prejudiced to hate the young man because of his supposed claim on Alicia, and was deliberately blinding himself to any positive qualities the man might possess.

So, against his better judgement, and evidently to the surprise of Alicia Groves, who was looking utterly miserable at the unfortunate meeting of the two rivals, he found himself accepting the invitation to drink away the day with the worst of Port Royal's aristocracy.

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AN: I personally think this is where it starts to get interesting. Next chapter is one of my favourites…it involves alcohol, drunkenness, and the like…but as for the result of this debauchery, well, you'll just have to come back later. Probably tomorrow. dd xx 


	24. Chapter 24

AN: I've seen it! Yippee! Muchos excitement in my corner of the UK. I'm working on a theory to weave some Scruffington into this fic, because, frankly, he's so hot it's untrue. Anyway, moving on, this chapter is one of my favourites (does that sound ridiculously big-headed? I'm sorry…), and it seems some of my reviewers are psychic, having predicted what action Norrington wisely takes in this chapter. Ah, meloves…dd xx

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24

Thus it was that, at three in the afternoon, Commodore James Norrington found himself in a dingy, smoky corner of the _Goose _public house, feeling the rancid beer curdling in his stomach, and watching disdainfully as several young men of good birth and low breeding drank themselves stupid.

He was pleased with himself, that he had learnt so much about their dalliances and unsavoury excesses, but yet revealed so little about himself.

'So…and yourself, my good man,' slurred one such young man, who Norrington gathered was called Samuel White, 'any girls in your life at the present time?'

'Na, 'course not, you fool!' another shouted raucously. 'He's navy, he don't go for the girls, does he?' he slapped Norrington smartly on the back. 'All ruddy sodomites on them ships, ain't they?'

Norrington, his composure and dignity intact, wondered where the man, who was dressed in fine material, had learnt such villainous English.

'Must 'pologise for my friends' behaviour, James,' Armitage said indistinctly, not sounding remotely repentant. 'Lads, the good Commodore isn't a degenerate like that! Oh, no…had a bit o' bad luck with the ladies recently, isn't that so, sir?'

'Not at all, gentlemen…simply a vicious rumour,' he said mildly and sipped at the awful beverage.

'Come, sir!' Armitage said, patting him on the back in a violent sign of comradeship, which made Norrington spill his beer onto the already sticky table. 'A true saga of love, passion and romance on the high seas, I do believe.'

'And pirates,' added the Commodore acidly.

'And pirates,' agreed White. 'It were that Miss Swann, 'm I right? Bet she'd look good in one of them coats the pirates wear!'

'And nothing else!' agreed another man lecherously.

Norrington sighed quietly. It was going to be a long afternoon.

'So,' Armitage growled in his ear some hours later, the stench of stale beer on his breath making Norrington feel quite unwell, 'if Miss Lizzy Swann is…let us say…off the agenda…do you have your roving eye on any of our fair Port Royal maidens, Commodore?'

The Commodore declined to point out that he could hardly use the possessive 'our' in conjunction with Port Royal, having barely resided there six months, and gave a short, non-committal answer.

'Goody, goody, as long as you haven't got designs on my Lissy Groves,' Armitage continued drunkenly, unaware of Norrington's pale, anxious visage. 'I call her Lissy 'cause it sounds more familiar, like…I'm sure that Turner bloke does the same for that Swann girl when he's a-wooing.'

Norrington sat in silence and decided to let the man talk himself to his death.

'Shouldn't half see her blush! Thinks her brother will throw me out the house if I'm not proper and all that…as though he cares, too busy strutting around that ruddy plantation with his thumbs in his swanky waistcoat to notice his little sister. Not that I blame our Mister Groves, mind you…I mean, between you and me, Jimmy lad, she's nothing to look at, is she? Nice dresses and all that…but when you compare her to…I don't know…some of these local lasses…got no colour in her cheeks, has she? And so thin, too…nothing for a man to hang on to, eh?'

The Commodore focussed on breathing rhythmically, and repressed his urge to disagree physically with the rascal.

'Guess a man could put up with all that, though, couldn't they, my good man?'

'I fail to comprehend your meaning, sir,' Norrington hissed through gritted teeth.

'She's got what matters, hasn't she, Commodore? Got the _stuff_…' he rubbed his fingers together greedily. 'Once I'm living in a house twice the size of the dump I live in now…what can she say if I take me on a little excursion to the town…to Tortuga, say? Not likely to kick up a fuss, a little waif like that…wouldn't be surprised to see _her _down those cat-houses, anyway…it's always the quiet ones, I say…have you seen the way she pushes herself at that Gillette? And then the little minx has the nerve to blush and coo like a little girl when I'm all sweet to her…'

Norrington drained his beer composedly, and threw a gold piece onto the table.

'Are you busy tomorrow afternoon, sir?' he asked lightly.

'No…same again, eh?'

'I had wondered,' Norrington paused in mock thought, 'if you might like to fight me?' he leaned back contentedly and watched the colour drain out of Armitage's red face.

'Are you calling me out, Commodore?' he asked in disbelief, some of the drunken slur fading from his scared voice.

'I am,' replied the other gravely.

'You jest, surely?' Armitage asked desperately, as the other inebriated men began to wake up and take notice of the turn of events.

'Not at all, sir, I assure you. I expect to see you in the fort courtyard at three tomorrow, armed with your sword.' He rose to leave, satisfied with the fear and confusion on Armitage's face.

'Why, Commodore? You do not duel simply as entertainment, I trust?'

'Never,' Norrington said menacingly, his officer façade slipping smoothly into place. 'I duel to protect the honour of the woman I love, and to relieve her of an inferior suitor. Good day, gentlemen.' He placed his hat on his head and left the _Goose_, relishing the fresh sea air in contrast to the muggy interior of the pub.

As he had predicted, Armitage followed him, stumbling slightly, and blinking in the bright sunshine.

'But Commodore…you said…' he was almost on his knees before the fearsome naval commander.

'I know what I said, Mr Armitage,' was the curt reply. 'You can hardly have expected me to impart my secrets and emotions to a bunch of bigoted louts, can you?'

'But…I cannot fight you…' the younger man said desperately, the ramifications of his hasty words circling in his wine-soaked mind.

'Oh?' Norrington raised a supercilious eyebrow, conscious that he was enjoying the exchange a little more than was proper. 'A coward as well as a shameless philanderer, are you?' he turned to walk away again, certain he had elicited the desired response.

'You call _me _coward, sir? _You_, who backed down to a blacksmith?' Armitage shouted, incensed, at his retreating back. 'Very well, sir, I _shall _fight you, and I shall dance with Alicia Groves as you are dying…I don't care if you are Commodore of this entire fleet, for you cannot frighten me!'

Norrington continued walking steadily, feeling the breeze ripple his coat, and smiled to himself as he heard the terrified young man behind him shouting empty, foolish threats.

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AN: so…the action keeps piling on. Ish. If you've enjoyed, do drop me a line (also with criticisms and so on) and come back soon to see the duel take place. Yum yum. dd xx 


	25. Chapter 25

25

Norrington was calmly reading the latest news bulletin from the Americas, when Groves burst in, in a state of extreme agitation. The Commodore looked up.

'Is it true, James, what Gillette tells me? You've called out Freddy Armitage?'

'Indeed I have, Groves,' Norrington replied, folding up the report and taking his feet down from his desk. He pulled down a book and began looking a figure up in the extensive index, perfectly aware of his friend's irritation.

'But _why, _James, for God's sake! You're above squabbling with a little runt like Armitage, aren't you?'

Norrington looked appraisingly at the other. 'On the contrary, Theodore…this is one duel that must be fought…'

'And how so?'

'In defence of a lady's honour,' Norrington stated firmly.

'James, if he's been insulting Elizabeth Swann again, I really don't see the trouble! He never says a good word about that girl, and besides, she's tough enough to handle the rascal for herself, you know that as well as I.'

'But it is not Miss Swann, my dear Groves,' the Commodore replied absently, marking a statistic in his book and putting his pencil behind his ear. 'He had the misfortune of abusing your own sister. I thought it my duty to defend Miss Groves.'

Groves sat down abruptly in shock and thought.

After a while, he came back to life. 'Well then, Commodore, allow _me _to fight the blackguard! She is _my _sister, after all…'

'Ah!' Norrington raised a cautionary finger. 'But you were not present, Theodore. No, I am quite prepared to fight and kill him. Do apologise to your sister if her suitor dies.'

Groves stood for several moments, opening and closing his mouth in disbelief and amazement at the cool tone of his friend.

'But…but…but she is not even aware that this affront took place!' he stuttered.

'No? Then perhaps you would be so kind as to inform her of the occasion before Mr Armitage's demise.'

'You could _die, _James!' Groves exclaimed in exasperation.

'Yes, I suppose I could,' answered the Commodore levelly. 'However…it will be worth my while, if I die defending Miss Groves.'

'James! Be reasonable…I am asking you not to risk your life simply for my sister.'

'And I am telling _you, _Mr Groves, that there is nothing in my life so important to me as your sister, and to kindly refrain from instructing me as to which risks I may and may not take.' All of the laughter was now absent from his words, and his voice shook slightly with emotion and solemnity. As Groves exited, in shock and wonder, the Commodore called after him, 'Theodore – I would be most obliged if you could avoid mentioning that last to Miss Groves. I would quite like to make her sensible of it myself…should I live, of course,' he added as an afterthought.

The day rolled by too slowly for Norrington's liking, who, despite his assured tone of voice, was beginning to contemplate the possible consequences of his hasty challenge to Armitage, deserved though it was. Nerves began to build up inside his empty stomach, and he stood in his silent office, feeling the weight of his sword as he whirled it about in flawless arcs and energetic parries. Presently, the mindless practise turned to melancholy thoughts of an ignoble death and Alicia marrying Armitage, forever ignorant of the love he, the Commodore, bore her.

With this in mind, he placed his sword to one side and began to write.

_Dear Alicia, _he wrote, not caring what she thought of the liberty he took with her name,

_If you are reading this letter, then it can only mean that I have perished in the act of defending your honour. Your esteemed brother finds me to be rash and hasty in calling Mr Armitage out, but, without detailing the scandalous way in which he insulted you and abused your flawless name, let me assure you that this duel is a very necessary one, for my own peace of mind as much as for your honour._

_If I am dead at the hands of this scoundrel, Alicia, please allow me to entreat you, as a friend, to disassociate yourself from him, for he means you nothing but ill. I know too well that you enjoy his company and look upon him in a favourable light, but if I am ever to influence your life for good, then listen to a dead man's final plea now. My wish that you refuse any offers he may make you is a selfish one, Alicia, for I confess it was more than gentlemanly protocol which drove me to rise to your defence yesterday._

_Should they be laying out my corpse as you read this, then know this: I die for you, my darling, for the woman I have loved above all others, and I am glad to do so, knowing that you are no longer ignorant of the affection I have long borne you. I know that such an emotional and impulsive declaration can do naught but distress and repulse you, but remember that it is enough for me, as they lay me in the cold ground, to die with the knowledge that I have unburdened myself to you. Be happy, my beautiful Alicia. No one deserves it more than you._

_I remain, always and forever,_

_James xxx_

Norrington sealed the letter slowly, thinking deeply. It would be almost worth dying to have the whole matter resolved quickly and with minimum embarrassment to himself. He decided that, either way, he would make his feelings known to Alicia by the end of the day, either verbally, or through the letter he held in his hand. He tucked the parchment under the blotter on his desk and left quickly, his sword swinging heavily at his side.

The sunlight was muted as he strode into the courtyard, which was already crowded with gawping citizens, excited by the impending prospect of bloodshed. He looked around, squinting, and saw Gillette and several other officers talking anxiously to Groves. Of Alicia, there was no sign.

'Gillette,' he said quietly, approaching the group. 'You will be my second, will you? And hold my coat, and hold my head as I die?'

Gillette blanched – it seemed he, too, was finding it difficult to comprehend that his Commodore might die. 'Of course, Commodore Norrington,' he replied nervously. 'It would be an honour.'

'Good,' replied the Commodore briefly, smiling far more cheerfully than he felt.

A roar from the crowd announced the arrival of Frederick Armitage, with his coat already removed, swinging his weapon in wide swathes as he swaggered up to the central platform. The Commodore slowly climbed the steps, trying not to feel as though he were mounting the gallows.

'Ah, Norrington!' Armitage jeered 'Bit hot to be dueling in a fancy coat like that, wouldn't you say?'

Norrington bowed curtly, and removed his coat composedly, handing it to Gillette, who was trying to suppress the way in which his limbs trembled.

'Good afternoon, Mr. Armitage,' he said quietly. 'Your weapon is satisfactory, I presume?'

'Oh, very, very, sir,' replied the other. 'No doubt you'll be finding that out soon enough…' he smiled threateningly, without humour. Norrington declined to respond, and instead opened his shirt a little to cool himself, for a nervous sweat had broken out across his skin.

There was deathly silence in the courtyard as the two opponents bowed to each other and began their fatal dance, lightly tripping about the platform, trying experimental jabs and lunges at the other. Norrington was not at such a disadvantage as he might have been, being the older of the two, for Armitage was stocky and lumbering, and unable to match the Commodore's nimble footwork.

The sunlight intensified as they fought, glinting on the whirring blades. The only sounds in the courtyard were the laboured breaths of the duelers and the metallic clash of their swords. Norrington felt his arms, unused to close individual combat, begin to ache dully, and he began to hope for some resolution or another.

Suddenly, as his pace began to flag and the energy behind his strokes drained gradually, he caught sight, from the corner of his eye, of Alicia's anxious face, as she clutched a handkerchief to her mouth in consternation. Armitage evidently saw her, too, for he summoned enough energy to taunt the Commodore.

'So…come to see you die, has she?' he gasped. 'Ever tell her the truth, Commodore? Tell her how you think about her?' he grinned lecherously as he thrust his sword wildly at Norrington's midriff; the Commodore blocked it easily and danced out of reach.

'I promise you, I will make you tell her _your _truth, Armitage,' he hissed in reply. 'It is no laughing matter to insult a lady as you have done.'

Armitage smiled disbelievingly. They continued to fight, the parries become ever more desperate and the finely-trained skill of both men dissipating into raw bloodlust and survival instinct.

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AN: for some reason, I'm not feeling in a very talkative mood this evening. But anyway, I appreciate you all reading this (and possibly commenting on it)…and hope you enjoy the next chapter, which sees the conclusion of the duel. dd xx 


	26. Chapter 26

AN: ah, bless you all so very dearly. I've been rather depressed of late (naturally due to the infamous Sharpie who remains as pig-headed as ever. And as fit, but y'know…) so your generous reviews touched and cheered me greatly. Sorry to disappoint, but there is no fluff in this chapter. Keep on reading, though, it's perilously near…dd xx

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26

And then, with the thought of Alicia's body sinking in the stormy water so many months ago, Norrington found that he had resolve enough to press forward, the blade of his sword rasping along its rival, forcing Armitage backwards, so that he was sprawled with the Commodore's point at the soft flesh of his throat.

There were gasps of fear and excitement from the crowd as Norrington held Armitage there, both of them panting furiously, a steely glint in the eye of the victor.

_I could kill him_, Norrington thought giddily. He saw the tip of his sword nick the white skin at Armitage's throat, and saw a small, vibrant trickle of blood stain his open shirt. He had never before looked into the eyes of a man he was about to kill, never felt the resistance of warm, living tissue as he thrust the fatal blade home.

In truth, he knew he could not, before these people, he could not murder a man, regardless of his sins, and then turn around and fall on his knees before Alicia Groves. His honour and sense of justice compelled him to kneel beside Armitage and hiss in his ear, 'do you submit?'

The younger man nodded breathlessly.

'Good. Stand and apologise to Miss Groves…and then leave my sight and never speak to me, or to the lady you have wronged again.' His tone was cold and commanding, one usually reserved for the storm of battle aboard the _Dauntless._

Armitage, eying the razor-sharp blade warily, clambered to his feet shakily and stood before the crowd, feeling the hot gaze of humiliation blight him, standing stooped and ashamed in comparison to the fearsome Commodore beside him.

He threw out his arms wretchedly… 'Miss Groves,' he began loudly. 'I…I have done you wrong…and I pay for it with my reputation.' He bowed his head as he left the platform, stumbling in the dust of the courtyard and feeling the heat of a hundred stares as he made his way from the fort, his shirt sticking to his back with sweat.

Norrington stood above the chattering crowd for several moments, regaining his breath. He had suffered several cuts to the arms and chest, and small blossoming bloodstains were unfurling across his sweat-stained shirt. He could feel damp tendrils of hair sticking to his face beneath his wig.

It was unbearably hot, and he called hoarsely to Gillette for some water, slumping down unceremoniously against a post, completely spent.

'Commodore?'

He looked to the side exhaustedly, and saw Alicia's lovely face at the level of his, for she was standing beside the platform, her parasol shading her from the sunlight.

'Miss Groves,' he whispered, his throat dry, unable to muster any energy to stand and address her correctly. As Norrington, his tired, aching head lolling listlessly to one side, observed her, he noted that she seemed agitated and upset.

'Commodore, might I enquire what on earth that was all about?'

'Your honour,' he replied, still unable to speak fully.

'May I not be the judge and defender of my own honour, sir?'

'You wish to fight Mr. Armitage?'

'I do not, sir. But I would remind you that my reputation and name are not yours to defend. My brother would have fought on my behalf, I am certain.'

'I see…' Norrington said slowly. 'I am sorry my efforts for you are not appreciated.' He was unable to stop himself from sounding bitter.

'Commodore…I…Mr. Armitage…who are _you _to dictate with whom I may and may not associate?' She drew herself up haughtily.

'I…I no longer know who I am to you, Miss Groves,' Norrington said quietly, ducking his head and looking at his discarded weapon. 'Evidently, not a man worthy of your esteem, or of Mr. Armitage's opposition.'

'Commodore Norrington!' she exclaimed as he rose gingerly to his feet, rubbing his sore hip. 'I…I beg you, do not misunderstand me…'

'I understand you perfectly, madam,' he said levelly, staring down at her from the platform, noting the way the lace of her parasol threw little spots of light on her face and shoulders. 'I pray God you may one day know why I have done this thing which is so repulsive to you. I have not the strength to tell you. Good day.'

Silently he descended the steps and walked out of the fort, mutely accepting his coat and hat from Gillette. It was four miles to his house, and his feet were throbbing from the tricky duel, but the sea air was a cooling balm to his shattered mind, and he needed to escape the bustle of the town, so that no one would see the tears flowing unchecked down his grimy face.

It was an alien sensation to him, to find himself crouched by the side of the road, in the shade of a palm tree, sobbing uncontrollably, overcome by the adrenalin of the battle, and by the pain in his heart. He imagined how much better things would have been had he died in the duel. Alicia would have rejected Armitage as a murderer, she would have read his passionate letter and wept for her dead lover, and he would have been serenely lying in the morgue, rather than crying like a young girl in the Caribbean countryside.

With a great effort, he hauled himself to his feet and continued along the way, feeling his feet trail dejectedly in the dry dirt. His sword dragged behind him on the road, and his arms swung loosely by his side – a far cry from the smart military step of his other persona. The tears continued falling hotly, until his eyes smarted and he could barely recall the reason for his distress.

Streaks of bloody sunset were marring the sky as he finally arrived at his own doorstep, his back soaked with sweat.

After the heat of the day, and the tumultuous events thereof, Norrington was almost screaming with need for an icy cold bath and a good night's sleep in a clean bed made with crisp white sheets. The housekeeper, seeing her master stagger up the stairs with a look of gloom on his smeared face, evaluated this wish swiftly, and it was not long before the Commodore was relaxing in his bath, mulling over Alicia's words and his too-hasty tongue, which had barked such cruel and curt replies.

He was still thinking of Alicia, and of Armitage and his idiotic, condescending grin, while he ate cold morsels leftover from the night before, and swirled a glass of cold wine absentmindedly in his hand. _So much for my resolve to tell her today, _he thought dolefully. He was truly convinced that he had killed her regard for him forever, and wondered how he could ever call on his friend Theodore again without an extremely awkward encounter occurring.

He wanted Elizabeth – her calm, rational companionship and friendly advice. He knew she could be a salve to the wound left by Alicia's blinding, irrepressible beauty, and craved _any_ other soul to share his lonely, echoing house. The night would be a long one, he knew, as he climbed the stairs, his footsteps reverberating in the empty hallway.

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AN: we-ell…I must next chapter contains a pure moment of squee which makes me _extremely _jealous of Miss Groves. Hmph. Sadly I am going to Italy on Monday with my city Youth Orchestra, but I'm going to try to bribe my sisters so they'll update this every few days. They drive a hard bargain, though, those two…come back soon, my lovelies, dd xx 


	27. Chapter 27

AN: okies, get ready for that most lethal of secret weapons: impulsive!Norrington. Yum yum, say I. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, I really do. And I send you as always my best regards for your kind reviews. Also, in response to some people who have bemoaned the shortness of these chapters – many apologies. They do get a _little _longer, but not significantly. I hope regular updates make up for this deficiency? dd xx

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27

It was gone one o'clock before he rose from the chair into which he had fitfully thrown himself, his powers of thought and logic sapped for that day. His eyes were thrumming with fatigue and the rawness of many tears, and he knew he must sleep if at all possible. It was almost inconceivable to him, as he sat on the edge of the bed and prepared to remove his heavy boots, that he would rise tomorrow and continue working, commanding, making decisions, facing his men with the usual proud countenance.

A sudden noise in the distance outside caused him to pause in his undressing. The clatter of frantic hooves on the path outside, he thought. He silently damned whoever was intruding upon his troubled peace as he took up the candle by his bed and crossed to the door.

As he looked from the balcony, he saw the housekeeper, Mrs. Manning, open the door and admit a windswept, frantic woman, sobbing fitfully and explaining her distress in great gulping breaths.

'Please, the Commodore…I must speak…please…'

Though he was unused to hearing her so agitated and ruffled, he recognized Alicia Groves, despite the way in which her hair was flying about her face, and her dress was muddy and torn. Norrington had never seen her look so beautiful as in the dim light of the hall, clutching at Mrs. Manning, her chest heaving with emotion.

'Miss Groves!' he said sharply, descending the stairs hurriedly, holding the candle aloft. 'What are you doing here at such a late hour?'

She turned to look at him, and her face was filled with relief and a frantic plea for immediate aid. He forgot instantly the pain they had caused each other, and ran to her side.

'Please…please…' she begged softly, through her sobs.

'You rode all the way here?' he asked incredulously, helping her to sit on the bottom step, and motioning for Mrs. Manning to bring a blanket. Alicia nodded tearfully, but with a hint of pride in her bright eyes.

'Miss Groves, you must tell me what is wrong,' he said softly, unconsciously caressing her shaking hand. 'Please take a moment to compose yourself…and then tell me everything. Is your family in danger?'

'Oh, yes!' she said in terror. 'The plantation…they came out of the night…I was barely able to flee…my poor sister…oh, God…' she began trembling uncontrollably. Norrington paused a moment before putting his arm around her shoulder and comforting her gently.

'Go on…' he whispered softly.

'I…I don't know who they were…my brother took Elinor and the children to the cellars…I am to warn you…bandits…they are headed for the Port, Commodore!' she began to sob again, and Norrington let her cry unrestrained for while. Finally, he stood, helping her to her feet.

'I must go,' he said firmly.

'No, no, sir, please…you must be tired out! Send your servants, I implore you!'

'I cannot, Miss Groves. My duty is to defend the town and its citizens, and that is what I shall do.' He looked gravely at her, huddled in Mrs. Manning's blanket, and the sight of a single tear on her eyelashes caused something to break within him.

She looked down at the floor, understanding his compulsion to defend Port Royal. From the long windows above the stairs, tall, flickering flames could be seen from the Groves' plantation. All at once, Norrington realized he was intending to ride against an unknown enemy, and that for the second time that day, he was in danger of losing his life, with Alicia still ignorant of his passion for her.

'I will not make that mistake again,' he murmured half to himself.

'Excuse me?' she asked in confusion, looking in fear up at him, her lips quavering.

The Commodore enfolded her suddenly in a mad, fervent embrace, the blanket falling to the floor. He barely heard her little gasp as she was clasped against his chest, and he could think of nothing but the press of her uncorseted body against his, and the feel of her arms tightly around him, as though he could save her and protect her from any ill. Without thinking, blindly, his lips crashed against hers and he tasted her tears with his tongue.

Far-off sounds from the town dragged him away from her, and he released her as abruptly as he had caught her up. She sank back down onto the step limply.

'I love you,' he gasped, overcome by affection for her. 'I love you, Alicia…remember that, if I do not return.' He could say no more to express himself properly, and instead kissed the top of her untidy head, and was gone suddenly into the night, shouting orders to a sleepy valet to bring his weapons and his saddle.

He rode through the night, the thick plants at the roadside catching at his legs and casting lurid shadows across the way. His heart was still beating erratically with the memory of his sudden passion, and he fought to focus on the dim lights of the town in the distance, rather than the desire he had glimpsed in Alicia's frightened face as he kissed her. _The folly of it! _It had been a selfish, unthinking act; he had taken advantage of her panicked state, and he knew it must not happen again.

_There might never be the occasion_, he reminded himself as he rode steadily, feeling brambles sting his cheeks. He could see, as he neared the sprawling town, that he was too late to warn the inhabitants. Even about a half-mile from the outskirts, he could see several houses on fire, and hear anguished screams and gunshots. Norrington tied his horse securely to a tree out of sight of the road, and cocked his pistol in anticipation.

He met no one on his way into the town, and peered cautiously around the corner of a building which still stood intact. The main square was lit up like day by several burning buildings, and Norrington could see several figures battling valiantly in the thick smoke, obviously clad in whatever garments had come to hand when they realized the source of the night-time disturbance.

He could hear women screaming and horses galloping helter-skelter through the narrow streets. There seemed to be Marines running randomly about, with no central figure to command them. The intruders were a motley crew, armed with all manner of weapons, sawn off blunderbusses and pitchforks – but for all their amateurish appearance, they were wreaking havoc among the populace of Port Royal.

Norrington could watch no longer. Drawing his sword, and holding his pistol ready in the other hand, he entered the melee, calling to his men as he did so. The arrival of a new fighter on the scene, and evidently a gentleman of some note, aroused the interest of several of the brigands, and they turned to launch themselves at him.

With his teeth gritted, the Commodore blocked a hail of deadly blows, his feet firmly on the ground, and his weaker left hand firing lethal bullets at approaching opponents. But there were so many of them, and he was so tired, and so weakened by the thought of Alicia, and it was not long before he found himself with his back against the wall of Gregory Jones' butcher's shop, his bullets spent and his right arm flagging.

The two men pressing down upon him taunted him in some unknown tongue, showing rotten teeth as they smiled murderously. One lifted his curved, notched cutlass, and Norrington knew he could not raise his arm to block the arc of the looming blade. Time seemed to slow down, and he heard the shouts and jeers of the men as though from far away. It no longer seemed so stupid to have embraced Miss Groves so impulsively, if he were to die here, miserably.

The fatal slash never came. He looked up weakly to see the two men fall mutely to the ground, a short kitchen knife protruding from the breast of each. Standing before the Commodore, breathing heavily, was Captain Gillette. Norrington had never been so pleased to see his trademark grin.

'Perfect timing, Captain,' he gasped.

'Thank you, sir,' replied the other, retrieving his impromptu weapons from the two corpses. 'Good thing they smashed up the hardware store, eh? Never know when you might need a kitchen knife these days…' he smiled again and pulled Norrington up from his slumped stance against the plaster wall.

As he stood, the Commodore realized something was very wrong. He felt faint, and a dull ache was throbbing in his side. Gillette was looking similarly worried.

'I…Captain…I…think I may be injured,' he managed to say more calmly than he felt.

Gillette nodded mutely, staring at the dripping bloodstain on the wall behind the Commodore, and dashed forwards just in time to catch his commanding officer as he fell to the ground, unconscious.

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AN: it's never, ever simple, is it? But fear ye not, Norrington will be recovering shortly. I would be the first in line to mop his fevered brow, let me tell you. As I said previously, I hope I can get my sisters to update for me, as I'm off to Italia tomorrow (thank you for all your messages relating to this by the way). If they take the bribe, come back soon for more awkward interaction between the Commodore and Miss Groves. And also angry!Elizabeth. dd xx 


	28. Chapter 28

AN: well…it appears that my dear mother is taking advantage of my trip to Italy and taking the rest of the family on a trip to our native homeland, namely Wales. Where there are no computers. Well, not _chez_ _ma grandmère, _at least. Hence, all the Maom strips in Christendom will not enable me to bribe my sisters to update. So…here are two chapters for you to be getting your teeth into, and I regret you must wait until my return for more. I'm very sorry…it doesn't show much appreciation for you lovely people who review my work. But I will be back, Terminator-stylee, ASAP. Until then, dd xx

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28

It was some days before Commodore Norrington awoke in his own bed, his body wracked with pain.

He looked about him groggily, his eyes unused to the bright sunlight, and it took him a few moments to realize that he was in his own home, and that a gentle hand was running a cold flannel across his brow. Every muscle of his body ached, and as he moved his head starbursts of blinding pain exploded behind his eyes. He resolved to keep as still as possible.

'Commodore?' asked the person by his bedside, and he realized with an internal groan that it was Alicia. He moaned indistinctly in reply.

To his great surprise and embarrassment, he heard her burst into noisy, abandoned tears, and felt her hands clutch at his as she sobbed.

'Oh, Commodore Norrington, I have been so anxious!' she cried, her voice muffled through the handkerchief she held to her mouth. 'I…I feared that you would die…your fever has been so high…oh, thank God you are recovering…please…please look at me, sir…oh, you are alive…'

Norrington's heart sank as he heard her outpouring of relief and worry. It had not been his imagination then. Her emotion confirmed that he _had _expressed his affection for her in a rather uncouth physical form, and now she expected him to continue in such a vein. He raised his hand weakly, and felt her little fingers clasp it and caress it.

'Oh, Commodore, we have all been frantic here! My brother has not spoken for days, and Miss Swann has called to visit seven times! Oh…oh, sir, you do not know what this means to me! I should have died with you if you had perished…and it was I who sent you down into that battle, sir…oh, oh…' she dissolved into tears again, and Norrington felt dreadful. He must apologise to her for his ungentlemanly conduct of the night of the battle, before Theodore Groves discovered it and finished the job the brigands had started. He cleared his throat dryly, and was grateful to feel Alicia lift a glass of cool water to his parched lips.

'Miss Groves,' he whispered weakly. 'The night of the battle…I…' he closed his eyes against the harsh sunlight and listened to her feeble sobs for a few seconds. 'I behaved poorly towards you…I took advantage of your distress to act in a way that no nobleman should, and for that I cannot apologise enough. I hope you understand and believe that I most certainly do not behave…like that…in normal circumstances.'

She was silent a while, and stopped crying abruptly. Norrington, though his eyes were closed, could sense her watching him in confusion.

'But…but James…what if I have no objections to your behaviour? What if…oh, Commodore, will you not be honest with me? What should I care for propriety and behaviour and comportment and the stifling rules my class are slaves to, if you truly _meant _what your words and actions indicated?'

Norrington opened his eyes a little, and saw her next to him, her face blotchy with tears, her eyes sparkling with emotion. He looked away, his heart torn between a new urge to reach over to her and kiss her once more, and his maxim always to do the right thing.

It would do her no good, he thought sadly, to be involved with him, a man so constantly caught up in skirmishes and bloodshed. A man so thoroughly enslaved to duty and honour. He knew, deep inside of himself, that he had always compromised his own happiness in a quest for righteousness. He wondered if this would earn him a greater salvation at the final judgement, or if he was simply compounding his own solitude and despondence forever.

A delicate sniff reminded him that Alicia was still waiting by his bedside, waiting for him to cast her away from him.

'You did not mean…what you told me, then?' she asked calmly.

'I…Alicia, it is immaterial whether I meant it or not,' he replied hopelessly, letting his eyes close once more. 'It would be better for us both if the entire incident was forgotten.'

She continued wiping his face with cold water for several seconds, and then placed the flannel back in the bowl. Her sobs had entirely subsided, and she seemed much older than he remembered.

'I see,' she said slowly. She rose carefully and left the room, her skirts rustling softly.

Miss Swann was entering the house and handing her fashionable bonnet to Mrs Manning as Alicia descended the stairs, attempting to quell the tears threatening to overcome her again.

'Why, Alicia, whatever is the matter?' asked Elizabeth as she saw the other's distressed countenance. 'Is the Commodore worse?'

'No…no…' she choked, rushing past the elder woman into the Spartan parlour, where she collapsed on the chaise longue, her face contorted with the effort not to cry. Elizabeth followed her, removing her riding gloves as she did so, and sat beside her. The Commodore's former fiancée had taken a great fancy to his new companion, and had observed with admiration the devoted way in which Alicia had cared for him. The two women had become friends in Norrington's house, dividing the work of a nurse between them, and talking fondly of the man and his great nobility.

However, Elizabeth guessed now that her friend had awoken and begun reverting to his old, stilted self, the persona that had at first so prejudiced her against him.

'Come, Alicia…the Commodore is awake, I take it?'

Alicia nodded weakly, dabbing ineffectually at her reddened eyes.

'What _has _he said to upset you? You mustn't mind all he says, you know. He is somewhat of a novice when it comes to conversing with ladies.'

'He…he told me he loved me…' Alicia hiccoughed, her genteel demeanour marred. Elizabeth gasped. That was _most _unlike the often aloof, formal Commodore she knew.

'_James _said that?' she inquired incredulously.

'He…he said he loved me, and he…embraced…he kissed me…oh, Elizabeth…surely he would not do such…such things and then…and then…'

'Go on, Alicia…' she pressed encouragingly.

'And then…then say he didn't mean it…he would not be so cruel, surely? Oh…I am so very sorry, Miss Swann…I confess I am very upset…'

Elizabeth hugged her friend comfortingly.

'Come, now, Alicia…I am a little confused. The Commodore is in no fit state to be embracing anyone at present, with the wound to his back…'

Alicia smiled wanly. 'I am sorry…I did not explain properly. He…he perplexes me greatly, Miss Swann. When I rode to his residence…after our plantation was attacked, you see…he…that was when he…he said those things…oh, Elizabeth…I felt so guilty for being happy, more than happy, when my family was in danger…'

'But you said he didn't mean it?'

'Yes…just now…' she looked distractedly out of the window, biting her lip at the memory. 'He _apologized _for kissing me, Elizabeth! He…he must truly regret it…'

Elizabeth sat contemplatively beside her friend, passing her own handkerchief to the distraught girl to replace her own, sodden one. She wished the Commodore could see his lady now, reduced to bitter tears because of his blasted pride and sense of stifling propriety. It was too much to bear.

'Go home, Alicia, dear,' she said soothingly, placing a motherly kiss to her pale forehead. 'I will talk to the man, make him…understand the hurt he has caused you…please, do not be troubled…that man has no sense when it comes to relations with another person. If it doesn't involve a ship or a gun, he doesn't have a clue, I'm afraid.'

Elizabeth watched Alicia walk unsteadily down the path to her waiting carriage, her parasol shading her. As she helped Mrs Manning to prepare a tonic for the patient, she maintained her usual ladylike exterior, but inside she was seething for the damaged heart of her friend. She simply could not comprehend how a man so intelligent could occasionally show such blinding stupidity.

Carrying the tonic, her nerves prepared for a verbal sparring match with the indisposed Commodore, she climbed the stairs.

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AN: and next comes the promised angry!Elizabeth. Enjoy…dd xx 


	29. Chapter 29

29

The Commodore opened his eyes blearily at the sound of Elizabeth entering the room. His headache was worsening by the minute, and he looked longingly at the tonic she held in her hand. He was, however, unprepared for the onslaught that came his way.

'James Norrington!' she hissed furiously, slamming the glass down on the table beside the bed so that his head jarred painfully. 'What on _earth _has possessed you?'

Norrington swallowed apprehensively. There were merits and drawbacks to Elizabeth Swann's friendship, he decided. She might be an amiable and amusing companion, who essentially knew what was best for him, but she had evidently resolved to run the unsuspecting Commodore's life for him. He groaned quietly.

'Yes, that's right!' she scolded, 'lie there like an angel, a _picture _of innocence, as though you wouldn't harm a fly, while the _love of your life _rides home in her carriage, distraught because of your cruelty.'

'I wasn't cruel, Elizabeth,' he said defensively.

'Yes, you were, James. I'd have hit you if you'd treated me like that!'

'Well…see…the point _is, _she's the sort of person…because she's so gentle and vulnerable and so on…I mean, awful men like me…we take advantage of girls like that.'

Elizabeth snorted dismissively. 'Girls like that, eh?' she brandished a fearsome-looking scalpel at him. 'How many girls like Alicia have you known, Commodore?'

'Well, none…but…'

'Don't talk rubbish then…taking advantage, indeed.' She proceeded to bustle around the room, roughly pulling his bedspread straight and tidying away empty bottles.

'Elizabeth…is she very upset?' Norrington asked, a note of shame and guilt in his voice. He remembered well the stricken look on Alicia's face as she exited the room quickly.

'Yes, for your information, she _is_,' she replied, eyeing him angrily. 'You have absolutely no idea, do you?' she demanded in exasperation.

'I did what was best,' the Commodore said stuffily, mustering up his energy to meet her furious stare. 'And what was right,' he added.

'That's precisely your problem, James!' she exclaimed. 'Far too much thought about what is right and just, and not about what is good for you. Now…where are you now? She's miserable, you're miserable, and I'm nagging you. Who wins? Noone, James.'

He frowned at her, while she pulled at his wrist, irritably taking his blood pressure. 'Elizabeth…it's just not done to be gallivanting around the Caribbean kissing random women and then expecting lifelong happiness and so on in exchange…' he knew it sounded weak even as he said it.

She seemed to agree. 'Commodore James Norrington. I declare, you seem intent on destroying your own contentment. Why should you not expect lifelong happiness? I can think of noone who deserves it more…'

'Don't start convincing me I deserve her, Elizabeth,' he said quietly, sadly.

'Why ever not? It is my opinion, and my father's, and Will's…and Gillette's, and everyone's really, apart from probably Freddy Armitage…that a long-suffering, hard-working young man like yourself needs happiness and fulfillment…and that the source of that pleasure will undoubtedly be Miss Alicia Groves. I'm sure her brother would agree, should he care to open his eyes and recognize the obvious.'

Norrington knew he had lost, and let his head sink back into the pillows, trying to drown out her biting criticisms. He wondered what had made Elizabeth Swann so very wise. As she talked of his feelings of misery, and of the futility of forever pursuing duty and righteousness, when greater joys were under threat, he knew she understood the emotions that moved him…and those that moved Miss Groves, too, completely. It really would not have done to be married to such a wise wife. He smiled to himself.

'James, it isn't funny! You've destroyed that poor girl…heaven knows she's tried to show you often enough how she feels…and what is she to think if you kiss her one moment and push her away the next…can you imagine her confusion? If I didn't know better I'd say you were severely concussed.'

'I am well, thank you, madam,' he said through gritted teeth, as she began to tap his head like a boiled egg.

'No, you're not,' she snapped. 'You are completely insane to let a girl like Alicia Groves out of your sight, and your back is still unfit for you to walk. But let me tell you…' she pointed a finger vehemently '…as soon as you can walk you must go and apologise to her.'

'A-apologise to her?' he asked incredulously. His life seemed to be comprised of mistakes and apologies.

'Yes,' she said primly. 'Tell her you have reconsidered your actions, and that, upon reflection, you find them to be a true portrayal of your feelings for her. That should suffice, I think.'

'Miss Swann,' Norrington asked in complete exasperation, 'may I not be responsible for my own marriage proposal?'

'I never said you had to propose, Commodore,' she said teasingly. 'And even if you intend to, I think it might be prudent to have some assistance. The last one was a bit of a disaster, I think you'll agree.'

The Commodore narrowed his eyes at her, but accepted the glass of tonic with good grace.

'I really do not know why I allow you to push me around like this,' he sighed as he set the empty glass down again.

'Because I know what is best for you, Commodore,' she replied more softly, fluffing his pillows gently. He smiled bashfully at her, and a small smile from her reassured him that their friendship was still intact, that she trusted him to do the right thing now. The right thing for himself. She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and left the room, leaving Norrington alone to think.

The Dutch smugglers that had attacked the town had certainly messed him up, he ruminated. His back had been badly injured by shrapnel or by a manic blade, he could not tell – an injury he had ignored in the thick of the fight until he had collapsed from blood loss. And now he faced several more weeks out of action, lying listlessly and pointlessly in bed.

And then blasted _Elizabeth _had put ideas into his head, ideas he knew were for the best. He recalled his recent heartaches and troubles over Miss Groves: the panic as he realized she had been swept overboard, the feel of her wet arms clasped tightly around his neck as he laid her softly down. The rage he had felt, that drove him to hastily challenge Armitage. The shame of crouching by the roadside, crying hot, inevitable tears over her.

He knew, deep inside himself, that he had never experienced such turmoil over any other living being. _The only solace from this misery is her, _he thought. She alone could rescue him from the limbo in which he found himself – flitting from emotion to unstable emotion, neglecting his duty in favour of thinking of Alicia.

And once he had realized what he had known all along, that Elizabeth was right in championing an engagement between them, he cursed the injury that would keep him in bed for another fortnight at the least. He longed to rise from his bed and run barefoot to the plantation, to throw himself at her feet and clutch at her dress and beg for forgiveness, as he had known all along he must.

He drifted into lethargic sleep, and dreamt of burning plantations, and Alicia's feet as she sat beside him on a sand dune on Santa Maria, and the mud spattered up her dress from the long, brave ride to his house.

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AN: and that's all, folks. For a week, at least. But I promise you, the proposal is perilously near. Featuring rhododendrons, mischevious!Gillette, plenty of neat gin and poor, clueless Norrington, it promises to be the event of the year. Well, ish. Lots and lots of love, dd xx 


	30. Chapter 30

AN: I'm _finally _back...my parents sprung (sprang? springed? My English seems to have suffered somewhat) a surprise trip to Denmark on me...which was very nice, relaxing and interesting, but contained very little (read: complete absence of) Internet access. Hence, all you lovely people who reviewed and sent me best wishes for Italy (which was wonderful, and ended in me drunkenly confessing my love to Sharpie. Argh.) have had to wait a whole fortnight to read _this _installment, which sees the inevitable proposal edge ever closer... thank you for your patience and much love...dd xx

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30

'Checkmate, I believe,' Gillette said smugly, clapping the Commodore heartily on the shoulder. Norrington scowled.

'You're cheating,' he grumbled.

'I can assure you I am not,' replied his opponent. 'If I'm not mistaken, you owe me a leg of ham.'

'So it would seem,' Norrington said with bad grace. Two weeks had passed since his argument with Elizabeth, and he was still confined to his bed, although much more agile than he had previously been. His torso was still swathed in a large bandage, and it hurt to change position too abruptly, but he was quite able to sit and read or play chess with the officers who were dispatched to his house in regular shifts to alleviate his boredom.

Despite himself, he could not help from hoping that Mrs Manning would one morning bring some letter from the Groves' plantation with the post, which was invariably comprised of bills and dull, lengthy reports. Thus far, his wish had not been fulfilled, apart from a concerned letter from Groves himself, accompanied inexplicably by an atlas.

He was grateful for the distraction his friends provided (even Appleby's misguided attempt to serenade him with an air from 'Dido and Aeneas'), for more time listening to awful caterwauling and being swindled out of the contents of his kitchen meant less time thinking about the dreaded task ahead.

For as he lay on his back at night, unable to sleep due to the aching of his muscles, he could not stop his thoughts straying to Alicia Groves and the hiatus in their relationship. It was agonizing to him that she was living a matter of miles away, but that he dared not inquire after her or contact her. He knew her opinion of him was likely to have deteriorated significantly during the fortnight since she had fled his room, and wanted desperately to reassure her that he was truly sorry for the hurtful things he had said. He had begun writing countless letters to her, but they were inevitably consigned to the waste-paper basket, or shredded in aggravation. The fear gripped him that he would be similarly unable to talk to her once they met again, just as he could not find the right words to express himself on paper.

When Gillette came to visit again two days later, he found the Commodore on his feet, dressed in a nightshirt, limping around his room, proposing to his bedpost. The Captain watched in sly amusement for several moments, before entering the room.

'She'd be a fool to refuse you, sir,' he laughed, smirking as Norrington wheeled around in shock and embarrassment and scowled at him.

'You weren't meant to be watching, Captain,' he snapped, hobbling to a chair and sitting down gingerly.

'Well, you can ask my professional opinion, if you like.'

'Oh, yes, Gillette, and how many proposals of marriage have _you _made recently?'

'Well…two…but I don't think I was in much of a stable mental state either time, actually, sir…I'm _pretty _sure the second was a man…though it's hard to tell when one sees two of everything.'

'I see,' the Commodore said disapprovingly over the rim of a cup of tea. 'Well, as you can see, I am much improved and hope to be calling on Miss Groves this afternoon.'

Gillette looked concerned. 'You can barely walk, sir!'

'Exactly. What woman would have the heart to reject an invalid?'

The Captain stared, and frowned skeptically, unsure.

'That was a joke, Captain. You needn't look so suspicious.' Norrington smiled vaguely and began fishing his slice of lemon from his cup. Gillette laughed insecurely.

'Anyway, I shall be needing your help, Captain,' the Commodore continued, shifting carefully in his chair. 'You are my cunning diversion.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'You like Theodore Groves, don't you?'

'Well, yes, sir, of course, but I don't see…'

'I'm sure you'd like nothing better than to talk with him for several hours this afternoon, would you?'

Gillette marveled at the Commodore's changed character. It seemed that his sense of humour and vivacity had been triggered into action by his injury.

'Er…sir?' he asked tentatively.

'Mm?' the Commodore replied, otherwise engaged in examining a fresh scar on his knee, evidently a legacy of the duel with Armitage.

'Do you not think it might be…advisable to ask Theodore before you start planning to marry his sister?' Gillette flinched in anticipation of the Commodore's wrath. Instead, the patient looked thoughtfully at the younger man and pursed his lips in annoyance at himself.

'You know, you're right, Gillette,' he said slowly. 'Damn! Ah, I _knew _you would have some use, Captain,' he continued musingly. Gillette tried not to look affronted by the Commodore's unconscious dismissal of him.

So it was that, later that afternoon, refreshed by a jug of Mrs Manning's tonic and dressed in full naval uniform, the Commodore arrived at the Groves' plantation in his carriage.

His heart was beating wildly as Gillette helped him down, passing him his cane. He was very aware of Theodore Groves' protective attitude towards his sister, and recalled the shock on his face when he had first heard the Commodore declare his love for Alicia, before the duel. He wondered dumbly what on earth he was doing here, and tried to turn around and head straight back home.

'Don't be a fool, Commodore,' Gillette said sharply, guiding him by the arm towards the front door. 'I'd be thrilled to bits if you came and asked to marry _my _sister.'

'Oh, God, Gillette, what if she refuses me? I shall go mad…' he leaned heavily on the cane after knocking twice.

'From what I hear from Miss Swann, she's highly unlikely to do anything other than smother you with kisses,' replied Gillette solemnly, staring straight ahead at the door. Norrington groaned.

'That woman!' he hissed in exasperation. 'I do wish she would let me run my own life…'

'That's just what I said, sir,' Gillette said in reply. 'But she said you'd made such a poor job of it so far that it wouldn't hurt for her to step in. To be honest, sir, I think it's a better occupation than embroidery or painting or that sort of rubbish.'

Norrington looked sharply at the Captain, and was about to make a scathing comeback, when he heard footsteps within the house. He swallowed nervously.

'Good luck, sir,' Gillette said softly, stepping back as Theodore Groves himself opened the door.

'Commodore Norrington!' he exclaimed happily. 'What a pleasant surprise! We hadn't expected to see you on your feet for several days yet,' he continued, motioning for the two officers to enter.

Groves looked around the hall wildly. 'My wife and sister should be about somewhere, wait there a moment, sir, I'll just have a look around for them, they wouldn't want to miss you…' he began to walk away, but Norrington caught his arm with the hand not gripping the cane.

'Don't, Theodore, don't call anyone,' he said, his mouth dry. 'I should like to talk to you briefly in private…I…I have something of a rather delicate nature to ask you, if that is alright.' He could feel his heartbeat escalating.

Groves nodded in assent. 'Of course, James,' he said genially. 'Won't you come through to the parlour, gentlemen?' he motioned with his hand to the well-lit sitting room.

Gillette smiled ruefully. 'No, Theodore. I'll just stay here and look around a bit, if that isn't a problem.'

'Not at all, Captain,' Groves replied. 'My butler will be happy to bring you wine or tea if you like.'

The Commodore followed his host slowly into the parlour, his mind spinning with the various speeches he had composed, dissected and discarded during the previous sleepless night. He lowered himself onto a rigid armchair and licked his lips fearfully.

Groves sat down too, flicking out the end of his fine coat beneath him. 'So, James,' he said amiably. 'What can I do for you?'

Norrington opened his mouth, and paused. He could hear Gillette chatting to the servants outside in the hall, and the sound of plantation workers shouting and singing as they made their way to the fields. It was warm in the room, and his back was beginning to ache a little.

'Well, Theodore,' he began uncertainly. 'The fact is…I…you see, I've come to see you…well, I wanted to ask you…I thought it best to seek your…permission…that is, Gillette thought…and when I spoke to Miss Swann…well, I'm sure you understand…oh, dear, I seem to be making a dreadful mess of this,' he concluded miserably, massaging his temples in consternation.

Groves looked at him shrewdly. 'Have a nip of gin,' he said suddenly, rising and pouring two small measures at a counter in the corner, noting how the Commodore's hand shook as he handed it to him.

Norrington drank the stiff spirit in one, and wheezed a little as it burned the back of his throat. 'Ahh…much better, thank you, Groves,' he said, his eyes still watering. 'Well…quite simply, I…' he inhaled deeply, and felt the alcohol numbing his senses and his reserve.

'I would like to marry your sister,' he said firmly, setting his empty glass down on the table by his arm.

* * *

AN: and there you have it...but obviously, being the devious devil I am, I'm dragging out the inevitable for another two chapters. Hope it's worth it in the end. Come back soon, unless my parents decide we're all off to Brazil. Unlikely, I know...dd xx


	31. Chapter 31

AN: ah, bless you all for your reviews! And there was me thinking you'd all have given up on me...hope this next installment pleases you...it features much awkwardness, which is always fun to write. Come back soon, dd xx

31

Theodore Groves sat very still for several moments, looking out of the bay window at the lush gardens. He opened his mouth three times to speak, thought, and closed it again in confusion. Norrington had never seen him so perplexed.

'You…you want to marry _Alicia_?' he asked finally, his voice awash with incredulity.

Norrington was breathing more easily once it was evident that Groves was not about to leap up and run him through for daring to approach his sister. He nodded briefly. 'That's about the size of it, Theodore,' he said quietly.

Groves stood and began pacing, his brow furrowed in confusion. After a while, he stopped and looked at Norrington, who was still sitting composedly in the armchair, looking politely puzzled at his friend's actions.

'_Alicia?'_ repeated Groves in amazement.

'Yes,' replied the Commodore. 'Is that alright?' he asked tentatively.

'Well…I…' Groves spluttered. 'I really hadn't thought about it…I…but Alicia…why on earth do you want to marry _her_?'

Norrington stared. Groves had evidently forgotten the Commodore's outburst in his office, when he had attempted to prevent him from fighting Armitage. And it seemed that he was unaware of the perfection of his sister.

'I…where to start?' he mused aloud. 'Good God, Groves, I'd need all day to tell you…she…Theodore, are you telling me you don't understand my motivation?'

'Precisely,' replied the other, his composure somewhat recovered, as he sat again, pouring another measure of gin. 'I mean…James, you're comfortably wealthy, you're never allowed to sit down during balls and dances and so on for young women clamouring for your arm. You count _Elizabeth Swann _among your closest acquaintances…why, in the name of all things holy, would you choose _my sister_ for a bride?'

Norrington nearly laughed out loud at Groves' ignorance and blindness.

'I…quite simply, Theodore, I love your sister. Very much. Now, if you wish me to detail my reasons for loving her, I am quite prepared to do so, although it might be advisable to order some sandwiches, for I fear we may be here a long time. Or, if you are prepared to believe me, then stop gaping like a goldfish and give me a proper answer, man.' Norrington felt suddenly inspired by a new confidence, and sat quietly, watching his friend as he turned over these words in his mind.

'Well…of course I have no objection, James…I…I can't think of a better husband for a girl…but, really…how much thought have you given this?'

'Oh, about six months,' Norrington replied breezily. 'So, I have your permission to make her an offer?'

'I…of course, James…I wish you luck…' Groves said distractedly, still looking a little flabbergasted. He downed his second measure of gin hurriedly. The Commodore smiled happily, suppressing his urge to leap up and dance merrily, as he felt his reputation and his back would most likely suffer as a result of such boyish antics.

Meanwhile, outside in the hall, Captain Gillette was studying a fine sculpture of Diana in the Roman style, when Alicia Groves suddenly entered from the kitchen. She pulled up short when she saw the officer standing in the hall, scrutinizing one flawless, languid marble hand.

'Captain Gillette!' she exclaimed. 'What are you doing here? Is the Commodore well? His condition has not worsened, has it?' she babbled fearfully.

Gillette straightened up at the sound of her voice, and spoke to reassure her. 'No, no, he is quite well, Miss Groves,' he said gently, kissing her hand. 'As a matter of fact,' he continued, refraining from showing any emotion, 'he is talking to your brother in the parlour right now.' He looked mildly pleased with the shock and scantily disguised delight on the young woman's face.

'The…the Commodore is here?' she asked faintly. He nodded in confirmation.

'Oh, goodness,' she said to herself, her fingers smoothing her hair and her dress unconsciously, fidgeting frantically for want of another occupation. 'Oh, what shall I do?' She seemed to have forgotten Gillette's presence, for she continued murmuring distractedly for some time, her face looking drawn and panicked. Gillette smiled to himself, thinking that the Commodore was likely to leave the plantation that day a very happy man.

Finally, Miss Groves, breathing shallowly, turned back to him. 'Oh, Captain Gillette,' she said, her voice trembling slightly. 'May I enquire…why the Commodore is here today?'

'Oh…business, I believe, simply dull business, as far as I am aware,' replied the Captain lightly, observing the way in which her face fell.

'I…yes, yes, I see,' she said, covering the disappointment in her voice admirably, Gillette thought. 'I wonder…do you think, sir, he might spare a moment to talk with me?' she asked shyly. 'I have not seen him for several weeks, and I...I want to ensure he is recovering well.'

'I dare say he might stop a minute to greet you as he goes,' Gillette said, thoroughly enjoying his teasing.

She nodded quickly, her eyes flickering towards the door of the parlour.

They stood in tense silence for several minutes, until the door opened and Commodore Norrington exited, replacing his hat as he did so, using his cane as a support. He stopped as he saw Alicia standing nervously in the hall, wringing her hands twitchily. There was a very awkward pause as the two regarded each other.

'Miss Groves,' Norrington said shortly, bowing briefly. She curtseyed in reply, barely murmuring 'Commodore' in return, her eyes shining in anticipation. Norrington thought she looked older than he remembered, despite the insecure way in which she fiddled with a ribbon on her cream dress. He noticed Captain Gillette smirking behind Alicia, and shot him a glare.

'I…' he began, and wondered where the hell he was taking this conversation. 'I…have been talking to your brother…'

'Oh?' said Alicia, her voice taut and an overly bright smile across her face that did not quite disguise the worry and confusion in her voice.

'He…yes,' Norrington said more firmly. 'He informs me the gardens are…particularly pleasant this month.'

Alicia looked at her brother, who had entered the hall behind the Commodore, and was looking somewhat ashen. She glanced at Gillette, who was still grinning foolishly, and finally at Norrington, who was gazing at her intensely. She saw the way in which he leaned on his cane, and realized he was barely able to walk – and wondered why on earth he had dragged himself from his sickbed to talk business with her brother, and indeed, why he was discussing the _gardens _with her.

'I…yes…um…the rhododendrons are exceptionally beautiful,' she replied, her head feeling a little light.

'Is that so?' the Commodore said quietly in return. He seemed to swallow nervously. 'I should…very much like to see them, Miss Groves.' He glanced back at Theodore Groves. 'Would you…do me the honour of showing me, Miss Groves?'

Alicia looked at the floor. She very much wanted to speak with Miss Swann, to receive some reassurance and advice. She wanted to take her brother to one side and inquire as to the nature of his conversation with the Commodore. She wanted to _hit _Captain Gillette, with his stupid superior smile, and was alarmed to realize that she wanted to embrace Norrington. She judged it either impossible or inadvisable to implement any of these wishes, and instead nodded in reply to the Commodore's request.

Norrington beamed, and it occurred to Alicia that he was achingly handsome whenever he smiled, and that it was so easy to smile in return. She took his arm, shooting a questioning glance at the other two men, who were completely impassive.

Together, they walked into the scented gardens.

AN: yay! Guess what the next chapter is? Yes, it's the moment you've all been waiting for. At least, I hope it is...and I hope it doesn't disappoint. Ah, I'm having a little private squee just thinking about Norrie and weddings. Bless him. dd xx

PS wtf is up with the page break tool on this here website? Grrr...


	32. Chapter 32

AN: Yippee, the proposal has _landed!_ Man, how very sad, to get so excited about my own fic...what can I say, I've been waiting for something _conclusive _to spill out of my wretched head for quite some time now. Hmph. Enjoy, my lovelies, and come back soon. When hopefully the page break will be _fixed_. Raaa. dd xxx

32

They had not walked far in awkward silence, when Norrington's steps became laboured and evidently painful.

Alicia watched the way he limped in concern, and tentatively suggested that they sit down on the bench tucked between two towering ferns.

'You are not well, Commodore,' she said as they sat down on the slatted bench.

He smiled wryly. 'I suppose not,' he replied. 'However…fresh air and…good company are the best cures, I always find.'

Her eyes shone, and Norrington's hand twitched to take hers, but Elizabeth's admonishments on his behaviour flooded back to him, and he tried to compose his face into an expression of penitence.

'I…Miss Groves, please allow me to apologise for having neglected our…correspondence in the past fortnight,' he began in a stilting tone.

Alicia looked down at her lap before answering. 'That is…quite all right, Commodore,' she said, her voice lighter than her expression suggested was the truth. 'I…it is far better that you rested during your convalescence, instead of writing to me.' Norrington was alarmed to hear her voice crack, as though about to cry. He looked around, seeing no intrusive gardener or servant, and thought of Elizabeth's wise advice.

'What I mean to say, is,' he continued more brazenly, 'I must apologise for my…for the hideous way in which I treated you…when I awoke to find you caring for me. I…no, please let me continue, Miss Groves,' he said as she opened her mouth to protest weakly. 'It is most important to me that I make myself clearly understood. I cannot excuse my harsh words by hiding behind my illness and my weak state at that point. I am…quite sensible, thanks in no small part to Miss Swann, that I have treated you very cruelly, and caused you undue hurt and anguish. For that I am deeply sorry.'

He looked at Alicia, who was sitting silently and genteelly beside him. She refused to meet his eye, and he suspected that she had begun to cry quietly.

'I came here today,' he continued, his voice thickening in dread, 'to…to make this apology, and to…make one thing clear to you. I have…during my convalescence, I have had ample time to consider my actions, and my feelings…I believe…that is, I _know _that I meant none of those unkind words. I…yes…I know my behaviour when you rode to my house the night of the battle was ungentlemanly and highly improper, but…though you may condemn me for my inappropriate actions…I wish you to know that…'

He inhaled deeply, and closed his eyes tightly. '…those actions were…a true reflection of my feelings for you, Miss Groves. I…you see…I…I must conclude that…in fact, I came here today to ask…well, the Captain, that is…your brother, I declare, a fine man he is…' he was aware that he was babbling hopelessly, and tried to steady his trembling voice. 'I know your opinion of me must be…very low…and justifiably, I assure you…but I could not wait another day…it is rash of me, I know, and I wish you to know that my regard for you will always be higher than that for any other person…'

Alicia raised her head slowly, and Norrington, trailing off miserably, saw that her lovely eyes were, indeed, brimming with tears. She began to speak, and her voice came out as a muted sob.

'I…please, Commodore,' she said more clearly. 'I…please, tell me, are you…are you making me an offer of marriage, Commodore?' She closed her eyes almost reverently. 'I am very sorry if I have misunderstood you, but…it is torturing me to sit here, unsure of your intentions. Either way, please end my torment, sir.' Her speech was composed and polite, but Norrington detected an edge of desperation and panic in it, and saw hope and fear mingled in her eyes as he dared to meet her gaze.

They sat in silence for some time, the calls of exotic birds echoing in the garden. Norrington licked his lips nervously, and slowly stretched out his hand to cover hers, which were delicately folded in her lap. She looked tearfully up at him, almost alarmed by the intensity of his gaze.

'Yes…' he said as though he was surprised with his answer. 'Yes…I believe I am making you an offer of marriage. If that is acceptable to you, of course,' he added swiftly, not meeting her eyes.

Alicia smiled wanly, and glanced at his hand over hers. Slowly, she lifted her hands and entwined her fingers with his, her thumb sub-consciously caressing his palm. She looked back up into Norrington's anxious face. He held his breath.

'I think…' she said faintly, so that he could barely hear her, 'I think…yes, that is…acceptable.' She paused momentarily, and the Commodore bit his lip apprehensively. 'I…it would be more than acceptable…James…' she said, smiling bashfully.

The Commodore, his mind reeling blissfully, was painfully aware that he must say something in reply, and was distressed to find that the power of speech had temporarily abandoned him. He was conscious that she was still caressing his hand.

'That is…good,' he said dumbly, trying to stop himself from embracing her in wild delight. 'Yes…yes, very good,' he babbled, attempting to sound decisive and firm, and failing completely. His face finally broke into a huge, happy smile, and he looked around in wonder at the flowers and plants surrounding them, unable to bear the beauty of his shy fiancée any longer.

Alicia laughed gently, freeing one hand to wipe her eyes daintily. 'Very good?' she repeated, shaking her head a little. 'Elizabeth was right,' she said in amusement. 'You really have no idea, do you?'

'None whatsoever,' replied the Commodore breathlessly. He sat marveling at his great good fortune, still struck almost dumb by happiness, until she reached up tentatively and removed his hat. She bit her lip as she let it drop carelessly to the ground, and smiled timidly as she looked at him. Norrington could hardly breathe, and his head felt worryingly light.

Her eyes were round with joy and breathless anticipation as they looked shyly at one another.

'Miss Groves…may I…may I kiss you?' he asked hesitantly.

She smiled sweetly. 'Not as long as you insist upon calling me "Miss Groves",' she replied in a whisper, sliding slowly across the bench towards him, and tilting her face towards his.

He moved his face cautiously closer to hers. 'In which case…' he murmured reverently, 'may I kiss you, Alicia?'

'You never asked before, sir,' she whispered in the instant before he leaned forward inevitably and captured his lips with hers.

It was a sweet, slow kiss, vastly different to the rushed embrace they had shared the night the Dutch smugglers had attacked Port Royal. Gradually, cautiously, he raised one hand to her soft face and lightly cupped her uplifted chin. He felt her relax against him, and felt her thin arm encircle his waist. The air was filled with spicy scents of foreign flowers, and Norrington felt he could quite happily sit entangled with Alicia on that bench for the rest of his life.

Presently, however, he pulled away from her, and noted the way in which she blushed timidly, and smiled blissfully as he pulled fondly at the feathery wisps of hair curling over her cheek. It was inconceivable to him that anyone could be as happy as he.

'I have been so very, very stupid,' he said quietly, their faces still very close. She kissed him lightly on the mouth and shook her head.

'It doesn't matter, James,' she breathed. 'Everything is all right now…'

He tenderly stroked the downy skin of her slender neck. 'But I've loved you for months,' he said frankly, amazed at how easy it was to confess such secrets now. 'I am such a fool,' he said, hanging his head.

Alicia unhurriedly put her arms around his neck and rested her head serenely on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart and the undulating rise and fall of his lungs. Norrington stroked her dark hair gently and saw the lights of the house gradually going on, one by one, as dusk began to fall.

'Not a fool,' murmured his fiancée drowsily, nestling against him. 'Perfect. My perfect James.'

Norrington pressed his lips to the crown of her head and put his arms around her slim body. Fireflies were beginning to swarm in the garden, and he watched them glow leisurely, comforted by the warmth of Alicia's body against his.

AN: Squee? Or not squee? Very cheesy, I know that much. Do you think I should stop here? Because I have many more ideas, and 10 more chapters written, but this fic is getting _very _long and drawn out...I mean, they aren't even married yet! Feedback would be gratefully received, as ever. Lots of love, dd xx


	33. Chapter 33

AN: well…how can I thank you all enough for all your encouraging comments? As ever, I am most truly humbled. And as the consensus on continuing seems to be mixed, I've decided to keep posting to please those who _do _want more Norrington. I'll be able to gauge later if people are losing interest. For now at least, here is some interaction with a character I've actually really enjoyed writing, considering how aggravating and 2 dimensional she can be in the films: Elizabeth. Enjoy… dd xx

PS: this chapter is for Rurouni-Wolf, a great inspiration and friend. Thank you.

33

Elizabeth Swann picked irritably at her embroidery. She was currently attempting to sew delicate roses onto the hem of a tablecloth for her new home. However, regarding the tangled threads that made up the few pink misshapen patches she had so far embroidered, she was forced to concede that sewing really was not her forte.

Besides, she was more than a little distracted. She had been sitting in the bay window stabbing the tablecloth with her needle for most of the morning, keeping an eye and an ear fixed on the road. Her father had looked in on her in her feminine toil more than once, confused by her sudden allegiance to such domestic pursuits.

'Are you quite well, Elizabeth, dear?' he asked from the doorway on one such occasion.

She looked around guiltily and smiled sheepishly. 'Yes, very well, thank you, father,' she replied.

'Who are you waiting for?' he asked suspiciously. 'Mr Turner is out of town for a week, you know that…'

'Oh…noone,' she replied breezily. 'The light is simply much better in this window.' She smiled sweetly, hoping her father would pry no further. Now, she neglected the sorry embroidery entirely, impatiently staring at the open road. She slid a small piece of paper from beneath the bolster and smiled secretively as she read it once more.

_Miss Swann, _it read, _not wishing to be one to count his chickens before they have hatched, I am nevertheless almost certain that your latest venture has been successfully concluded. Capt. Gillette._

If truth be told, Elizabeth was a little put out that neither of her friends had ridden over to the Governor's house to thank her for her pivotal role in their courtship. She began to be anxious – surely James _had _proposed? She would not be responsible for her actions if he had invented yet another weak excuse…

The sentimental, romantic side of her wondered whether the Commodore had whisked his young fiancée away to marry her immediately in a hidden, provincial church somewhere. However, knowing James Norrington, she was forced to admit that this was somewhat unlikely.

She tormented herself with the thought that Alicia, after all her counsel, might have refused the Commodore, or that Gillette was playing an elaborate jest as he was wont to do.

Finally, at nearly three in the afternoon, just as she was about to rise and ride to the Commodore's house to ascertain the grim truth, she heard the doorbell ring. Entering the cavernous hall, she saw Alicia Groves removing her bonnet, and rushed forward to greet her friend.

'Alicia!' she exclaimed in delight. 'What a very unexpected pleasure!'

The two young women strolled into the parlour and took seats next to each other. Elizabeth scanned her friend with her eyes furtively, looking for any change in her demeanour or appearance.

'So…' she inquired casually, 'you are well?'

'Yes,' replied the other, smiling gently. 'Yes, I am very well…'

Elizabeth would have wagered her entire wardrobe that she was talking to Commodore Norrington's fiancée, but she knew she would be most ill-advised to venture this speculation.

'And…what manner of engagements have you been enjoying since I saw you last?' she asked lightly, rewarded by a modest blush from Alicia.

'I…' she began. 'Well…I confess I have been rather slothful at home…um…I have been practicing the pianoforte a great deal, and arranging flowers with Elinor.'

'How…pleasant…' Elizabeth returned exasperatedly.

'And you, Miss Swann, have you had an eventful week?' Alicia asked politely.

'Not particularly,' replied her friend. 'Some planning for the wedding, of course, and a walk along the sea front with my father yesterday evening, which was very refreshing…what else? I have been failing miserably to embroider the linen for my new home…you know Will is away, of course…Alicia, for God's sake, just _tell _me!' she ended in frustration, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

'I beg your pardon?' Alicia said mildly.

'Alicia, may we not drop this idle pretence? Walks along the sea front? Pianoforte practice? Come, let us discuss _real _news…answer me, Miss Groves, are you or are you not engaged to be married to Commodore James Norrington?' she sat back in satisfaction as the other bowed her head in shock and gentle embarrassment.

'I…I…' Alicia said in surprise. 'I…how on _earth _did you know?' she looked incredulously at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth smiled back smugly. 'Ah! So you admit you _are _engaged to our dashing Commodore?'

'I am,' said Alicia with a note of pride in her voice. 'Last night…he came to see my brother…we…well, we took a turn about the garden…'

Elizabeth barely suppressed a squeal of delight and excitement. She grasped Alicia's hand and clasped it compassionately. 'Oh, Alicia, I am so very happy for you! I cannot say how much I have wished for this…oh, I must tell my father! He will be sure to be similarly glad…Alicia, you are so very perfect for each other…I declare, I shall go wild with joy!'

Alicia looked overcome with happiness, both at her own joy, and at the reaction of her dear friend. The two women embraced tearfully, and Elizabeth rejoiced in the great mutual fulfillment to be found in such a fortunate event.

Outside, there was the scrunch of carriage wheels and horses' hooves on the gravel drive. The friends broke apart, wiping their eyes, and hurried to the window to determine the identity of the visitor.

Elizabeth was far from surprised to see the Commodore descend from the carriage, smooth down his pristine coat, and remove his hat before walking slowly to the door, evidently still very dependent upon his cane. Alicia, however, gasped quietly, and covered her mouth with her hands.

'Oh, goodness,' she hissed. 'What is he doing here? I…oh, Elizabeth, look at me, all teary-eyed and wearing such an old dress! What…oh, what if he has changed his mind? It will be so awkward to meet with him now…I shall not know what to say to him!'

Elizabeth patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. 'Don't be silly, girl,' she said laughingly. 'The Commodore, change his mind? When hell freezes over, I assure you…and besides, you must talk to him at some point…or do you intend to ignore your husband for the rest of your life? Now, stop being a little goose, dry your eyes, and sit down demurely while I greet him.' She handed the younger girl her handkerchief and guided her to the chaise longue, giving her a reassuring smile as she crossed to the door.

She opened the door to reveal the Commodore in his stiflingly hot uniform, polishing his boots subconsciously on his trouser legs. Upon seeing her, his entire face lit up, and he stepped smartly into the cool house.

Elizabeth began to greet him properly, and was offering to take his hat, when he burst out happily, 'Oh, Elizabeth, I am to be _married!'_ Elizabeth was greatly touched by the note of boyish glee in his usually solemn voice, and she smiled widely.

'Married!' continued the Commodore. 'I asked her…last night, it…we simply seemed to understand each other's intent…oh, Elizabeth, I cannot imagine _what _I have done to deserve this joy!' he hugged his friend impulsively, and she reached up gladly to return the embrace, wondering at the great change in the Commodore since Miss Groves had arrived in Port Royal.

'I offer you my very, very best wishes, James,' she said sincerely, her voice muffled against his shoulder. 'You…oh, you will be so happy, I know.'

Releasing her a little self-consciously, Norrington grinned as though he were a boy of twelve. 'Imagine, Elizabeth! Me, _me_, engaged to be married! They will not be able to believe it…and to such a wonderful woman, too…oh, Elizabeth, her eyes! And her lovely neck…she is always on my mind, bewitching me…I could die happily with her voice lulling me to sleep.'

Elizabeth laughed softly, and cuffed his shoulder playfully. 'Listen to you now, James, a man besotted…such a contrast to your stupid stuffy excuses a few weeks ago…'

He laughed too, a warm, genuine sound that spoke of the great change in his character. 'I was stupid, Elizabeth,' he said quietly. 'I should have listened to you months ago. It seems…I think…it seems Alicia quite enjoys my company…at least, her actions…suggest that she does…'

Elizabeth refrained from rolling her eyes. 'Yes…it seems probable that she _tolerates _you, Commodore,' she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. 'Now, come through to the parlour so you may drink tea and eat cakes with me.'

AN: forgive me if I don't post tomorrow, it's results day in Britain and I will most probably be out drowning my sorrows or celebrating. Hope you've enjoyed this installment, dd xx


	34. Chapter 34

AN: hey, sorry for the delay…as predicted, I was too busy hitting the town yesterday to go anywhere near my computer! Thank you to all of you who sent your best wishes for my A level results – I got 6 A grades so I'm off to Cambridge in October to study History, yay! However, there are more important things to consider, such as Norrington's present inability to express his feelings coherently. Typical man…dd xx

34

The sunlight streaming into the parlour was intense, so that it was several moments before Norrington realized that there was another occupant in the room.

Suddenly, as a cloud passed across the sun, he saw Alicia sitting composedly on the chaise longue, her dark hair spilling in gentle curls on her shoulders and neck. His heart stopped momentarily, as he re-accustomed himself to her beauty. It was as though he had forgotten how lovely she was, in the night they had been separated. He was uncomfortably aware of the state of his uniform, and the way in which several strands of errant hair were escaping from beneath his wig.

'Elizabeth, you might have _told _me Miss Groves was here,' he said accusingly to the smirking Miss Swann.

'And then what?' she demanded. 'Would you not have embraced me?' she winked mischievously.

Norrington was at a loss for words, and he twisted the brim of his magnificent hat in his hands, while Alicia looked inquiringly and a little fearfully at him.

'Well, are you not going to greet your fiancée, James?' Elizabeth asked teasingly.

Norrington blushed and took Alicia's hand, kissing it swiftly. 'Miss Groves,' he said softly. She, in turn, curtseyed deftly and swallowed nervously. The Commodore was horribly unsure as how to proceed, and he wished Elizabeth would leave the room.

'Really, James,' said the aforementioned, 'is that any way to treat the woman you love?'

Norrington blushed again, and noticed that Alicia was doing the same. 'I…I think that will suffice while there are others present,' he said stiffly.

'Oh, you _do _make me laugh, James Norrington!' Elizabeth retorted, flouncing from the room to order cakes and tea from the kitchen staff.

Left alone, Alicia and Norrington looked shyly at each other. The silence seemed to be strangling them both.

'You…you are still of the same opinion as last night?' Norrington asked haltingly.

'I…yes, I am.'

'Good,' he said distractedly, fiddling with a piece of gold piping on his sleeve. 'That is…yes, splendid…I…I have written to my parents in England…I…wondered if…if it is to your liking…that Miss Swann might sketch a miniature of you…I would very much like them to see their…their daughter-in-law,' he continued rambling.

'I…that would be very nice,' she said lightly. 'I…Commodore, did you mean those kind words?' she whispered.

Norrington looked slightly bemused. 'I apologise…which words?'

'In the hall, just now,' she said. 'I know it was very wrong of me to eavesdrop in such a devious fashion…but I could not help overhearing your dear voice.'

'I see…' he said slowly, looking over her shoulder, a little embarrassed. 'I…yes…every word…I…am afraid you will find me a man of…few words, and little inclination to express…my regard…I mean…to express how very much I love you. I…ahem…however, that does not alter or diminish the strength of my feeling…Alicia, please believe me…'

'You…you said I had bewitched you…' Alicia said as though unable to believe it.

Norrington looked into her dark eyes, and knew he had spoken the truth. Gently, he caressed her smooth cheek, his mouth twitching slightly.

'Sorceress,' he murmured jokingly.

She smiled. 'You should be demoted, Commodore Norrington,' she teased. 'It will not do for men in such important positions to be so…susceptible…'

He laughed quietly, and kissed her softly, his hands falling to her tiny waist.

'I thought…I feared…' Alicia began in a low voice, pulling away from him momentarily. 'I wondered if perhaps you might have…changed your mind.'

'No,' he replied, his face close to hers. 'Never. Please, Alicia…darling…you have my pledge and my lifelong affection…'

'And you mine,' she said solemnly, gazing into his eyes. 'I…I haven't told you…that I love you. What you…what you said about me…er…quite enjoying your company…in the hallway, just now…James…let me enjoy your company for the rest of my life…my love…'

Norrington thought there should be music, soaring strings, as he leaned in again to kiss her. Sadly, this remained deficient, and he had only the feel of her little hands laid on his chest, and the sound of Elizabeth Swann coughing in mild amusement.

'And what, pray,' she asked slyly, 'would you have done had my father walked in just now?'

Norrington had the grace to look guilty, and released Alicia, handing her back onto her chaise.

The three companions soon set about demolishing a fine tea of dainty cakes and iced beverages, and Elizabeth took the opportunity to quiz the newly betrothed couple further.

'So,' she asked, as the Commodore was inconvenienced by a mouthful of coffee cake, 'when is the engagement to be formally announced?'

Norrington did his best not to choke on the cake, and looked sideways at Alicia in ill-concealed alarm. Her expression was one of similar horror at the prospect of such a clinical, public statement of their connection.

'Well, I…we…' he began slowly, 'I…to be honest…'

'Honestly, James!' Elizabeth said, stirring sugar into her tea. 'For one so tied up in rules and responsibility, you haven't given this much thought, have you?'

'I…well…it's not really the first thing one thinks of when one is proposing, if truth be told…'

Elizabeth smiled. 'That much is true, I suppose. But you simply _must _organize some kind of gathering, James. Not dissimilar to that which my father arranged for _me_. And seeing as your good father is in London, you…'

Norrington finished his mouthful, and irritably put down his plate. 'Elizabeth,' he said firmly. 'I really don't see why all this razzmatazz and pomp is necessary…I will not satisfy the gossiping masses by staging a huge, glittering display simply to fulfill expectations…'

Alicia sat silently, delicately drinking from her cup, feeling that she, too, would hate to be paraded and displayed in such a fashion. Elizabeth, however, was not ready to give in so easily.

'You _know _that not to have a party would…how shall we say? …cast some doubt upon your attachment. You would surely leave yourselves open to scandal and idle rumour,' she said quietly, staring intensely at the Commodore, who was feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

'Surely,' he said lightly, glancing cautiously at Alicia, 'the public would not…would not presume that…Miss Groves has been…dishonoured in some way, simply because we both prefer not to celebrate our engagement along with the hoi-polloi of Port Royal?'

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and declined to answer his question immediately. 'Well…James, you must know you are not exactly the reclusive bachelor you have cast yourself as…dueling in public, diving into the stormy ocean, letting Jack go free…now, it's all very well if you don't give a fig for public opinion surrounding yourself, although I believe you _do _at heart, but it's quite a different matter to leave Alicia open to scandal and gossip.' She sipped at her tea, frowning at the Commodore, who looked rather dumbstruck.

He looked wildly at Alicia, who was picking miserably at a biscuit and seemed disinclined to share her opinion on the matter. Elizabeth, however, would not allow this.

'Alicia,' she said suddenly, as she passed her friend the sugar bowl and tongs, 'you simply _must_ convince James not to be so awfully stubborn! It is most selfish of him to deprive you of a party in your honour simply because he is too lazy and too proud to dance!'

Alicia smiled weakly. 'Actually, Elizabeth…'she began timidly, looking most apologetic. 'I'm not at all sure I would _like _an engagement party, in truth…it would be so expensive for my brother, and I quite agree with the Commodore…these events are rarely enjoyable…I mean…'

Elizabeth glared.

The Governor entered the room abruptly, looking lost and a little agitated. 'I say, Elizabeth, dear, have you seen my…' he began, before noticing the other two occupants of the room. 'Oh! Miss Groves,' he said paternally. 'And the Commodore! What a nice surprise…Elizabeth, you did not tell me you had visitors.'

'They are only just arrived, father,' his daughter explained, with the smug smile of a victor on her lovely face. 'I was just telling the Commodore he simply _must _have an engagement party. Don't you agree, father?' she smiled benignly at Norrington, who could quite cheerfully have murdered her with the butter knife.

'Oh, yes…an engagement party, capital idea, I agree totally, Lizzy dearest…I…I…an _engagement _party, did you say, dear? A…good Lord, Commodore Norrington, are you engaged? I…my goodness, I own I am quite confused. Do explain, Elizabeth…'

The Governor sat down heavily, his hand automatically reaching for a large ginger biscuit. He looked overwhelmed, and Norrington frowned at Elizabeth while he turned to explain.

'I am indeed engaged, sir. 'My fiancée, Miss Alicia Groves,' he said proudly, indicating Alicia with his hand, looking at her with a small smile as he did so. The Governor scratched his head weakly.

'Don't they make an _excellent _match?' Elizabeth said happily. 'It would be a _dreadful _shame not to have a betrothal party.'

Norrington stared into his saucer glumly, knowing he was beaten.

AN: and there you have it. I've just been watching 'Pride and Prejudice' for the umpteenth time, so I'm feeling a bit romantic, I'm off to write more misadventures of our favourite Commodore. The next chapter is the afore-mentioned engagement party…lots of love, dd xx


	35. Chapter 35

AN: ah, my father is a cruel man, cutting off the internet…but I will escape from his evil clutches! In just over a month, actually. As a scant apology for the delay in updates, I present the next two chapters for your perusal. Toodle pip, dd xx

35

So it transpired, largely due to Miss Swann's interference, that three weeks later the Commodore's house was filled with the sounds of guests greatly enjoying the pleasures of music, drink and food.

The Commodore himself stood seething in the entrance hall, his arm tightly clutched by Alicia, who was hardly looking any happier. Each time a new guest arrived, they would smile brightly, and extemporize at great length on their pleasure at seeing said guest in such good health.

'Yes, that's right,' Norrington said in a snide undertone as one finely-dressed couple wafted by, 'enjoy my food, drink my wine, and then return home and pass critical comment on how thin and peaky my future wife looks, and how I am sure to beat her…'

'Don't be bad-tempered, James,' Alicia said soothingly, stroking his arm lightly. 'They will be gone soon. I am sure no one will miss us during the dancing, we can take a walk in the garden.'

'I fear not, Alicia,' he replied fatalistically, 'for here is Miss Swann, intent no doubt on inflicting some new social torture on us.'

It was indeed Miss Swann who descended upon the pair, dressed in sublime peach silk, and grasping Alicia by the arm. 'Come, Alicia,' she exclaimed. 'The guests are waiting for you and James to open the dancing.'

Norrington glowered at Elizabeth as she dragged them into the ballroom, a chamber the Commodore had barely noticed before. It was filled with excited, swirling women gazing with adoring eyes at unsuspecting men. He could feel only a numb relief and gratitude that he would be beyond their reach tonight, and he thankfully took Alicia in his arms to begin the opening minuet.

The evening progressed far slower than either of the betrothed wished, as the company drank their way through the contents of Norrington's cellars proposing ludicrous toasts to the future health of the couple's horses and blessings upon the cutlery and so on.

Inevitably, the melee meant Norrington was quickly separated from Alicia, and though he caught sight of her elegant silver wrought tiara and deep red dress several times, he was invariably whisked away by the arm to receive even more endless congratulations from strangers. He was intrigued at his sense of hopelessness when not with Alicia, and realized that he was becoming ever more dependent on her…on her radiant smile, her perfect manners, her consoling, understanding arm on his.

At one point in the evening, when his lonely mood was at its lowest and he was thoroughly sick of listening to tipsy girls telling him how lucky Alicia was, he found some refuge near the door with Groves, who was still treating him with distant respect, and still seemed to be bemused by the betrothal.

'I…are you _sure, _Commodore?' he asked incredulously. 'I mean…even though you've had this…all this partying and so on…I…you can still change your mind, you know…'

Norrington smiled wearily. 'I don't think that's very likely, Theodore,' he said gently. 'But I'll be sure to let you know if I…oh, blast, hide me, Groves, there's a good chap,' he ended hastily, bending his knees slightly and turning to face the wall.

'Why? Why? What's wrong?' the younger man hissed, looking around for the reason for the Commodore's distress, and seeing only Elizabeth Swann making her way through the crowd of guests. 'Are you avoiding Miss Swann?'

'Do not misunderstand me, Theodore,' the Commodore replied in a low tone, 'but I have had my fill of viscounts and earls' sons that I "simply _must _meet"…I cannot quantify my abhorrence of gatherings such as these…and as Alicia shares this dislike, I really do not know why…oh, damnation!' he said angrily, as Elizabeth spotted him and made a beeline for the two men.

'Commodore Norrington!' she said indignantly, but with a sly smile, 'could it be that you are hiding from me?'

'As though I would do such a thing,' Norrington replied smoothly, straightening up and bowing to her.

'And here is your future brother-in-law!' she exclaimed happily, extending her hand to Groves, who kissed it chastely.

'Miss Swann,' he said curtly, and Norrington was alarmed to hear how cold his voice was, and see how icily he glared at the young woman. She evidently sensed it, too, for she soon made her excuses and joined another party. Norrington frowned at Groves.

'Was that necessary, Theodore?' he asked crossly.

'Was _what _necessary?' inquired the other.

'Treating Miss Swann so coolly…I cannot imagine what she has done to offend you. It is of no real concern, truly, that she has taken it upon herself to plan the wedding and so on…'

Groves raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but said nothing, merely sipping his champagne with a skeptical look on his normally genial face.

'Now, come, Theodore,' the Commodore said insistently. 'I must know what has vexed you about Miss Swann. Remember, she is a great friend of mine, and I will not tolerate rudeness towards her.'

At this, Groves laughed mirthlessly. 'Yes, your _friend._ I had forgotten that. A fine friend, indeed.' He looked out on the gathered company, a bitter smile twisting his mouth.

Norrington wheeled him about by the arm, hissing furiously at him, 'This is too much, Mr Groves…explain your meaning, sir, and your evident reluctance for me to marry your sister, or our friendship must end!'

Groves turned white, and began to splutter a stumbling apology, shocked by the anger in the Commodore's usually measured countenance.

'I only meant…sir…might I be frank?' He shook his arm free from the Commodore's grasp.

Norrington nodded curtly.

'Well, James,' began the other, 'I suppose…if I am reluctant for you to marry Alicia, it is simply because I…question your judgement.'

'Ex_cuse_ me?'

'Your choice in women has thus far been…poor, you must own it yourself. And yet you continue to torture yourself by consorting with the very woman who was responsible for inflicting great wounds on your heart. I…I neither know nor care if you are in love with Alicia, for that is no prerequisite in any marriage, but…I will not be civil to a woman who keeps an honourable gentleman and a valued friend emotionally tied. She is too cruel to you. You are a good man, Commodore…but I fear you do not know how easily you may be tempted.'

Norrington actually gasped in shock at Groves' words. 'You believe…you think…you think I am in love with _Elizabeth_?' he asked in amazement. 'With Miss Swann? I tell you, Theodore Groves, no matter what my feelings for her may once have been, I asked her to marry me because I felt it was right for my career. I asked Alicia to marry me because I love her. And,' he added as he struggled to keep his tone civil, 'I would hope you would not question my fidelity to your sister, which will ever be absolute and unswerving, I assure you.'

Groves looked thoroughly ashamed of himself, and hastily pressed another glass of champagne on the ruffled Commodore. 'I apologise profusely,' he said sincerely. 'I merely thought…well…I must have misunderstood the level of your regard for Miss Swann when you proposed to her…'

Norrington, upon seeing that his former Lieutenant was truly contrite, softened a little, though his eyes still flashed dangerously, conveniently repelling any loitering guests. 'Well…I cannot say…' he mused. 'I…yes, I was in love with Miss Swann months ago…the empty, foolish love that comes with sight, not with deep understanding of another human being. Infatuation, if you will…a lust easily removed and surpassed by the feelings I came to know upon making your sister's acquaintance. And furthermore, my friendship with Miss Swann has been greatly improved by the platonic link between us…in fact, I am quite convinced we would have made a dreadful match. No…I am no longer attached to that young woman in any way…oh, don't look like that, Theodore! It is quite all right, you know…I'm sure half of the Port thought I was in love with her too…I suppose I shall just have to prove them wrong.' He smiled brightly for the first time that evening, and sipped the champagne.

Groves smiled hesitantly in reply, and nodded in agreement with the Commodore's heated words, not trusting himself to make a satisfactory response.

'And…and when do you intend to marry Alicia?' he asked as though the argument had not taken place.

Norrington paused a moment, and dropped his voice. 'The Governor has advised me that increased smuggling activity in the region may see me dispatched on lengthy operations in the next month…and therefore…before my departure would be prudent…were anything to happen to me…it is, you understand, vital that Alicia is provided for…you see…' he looked intently at his fiancée's brother, who nodded seriously.

'Yes, of course…it would be easier for you to leave a legacy to your wife…but, really, James,' he said in concern, 'these missions…what has the Governor told you? Surely they can send others…a newly-married man…that is cruelty indeed…a lengthy separation, possibly even death? Is Gillette not experienced enough to head such an operation?'

'I would trust Captain Gillette with my life,' Norrington said in agreement. 'However, it seems that these…these smugglers, including, I believe, those responsible for the attacks on your plantation…an organized troupe, as we know…and I am, of course, an officer of the British Navy, with a duty to His Majesty…' he straightened up suddenly, hitting Groves jovially on the back. 'But never fear, eh? This is an engagement party, after all! The Governor said nothing explicit, and it would not do to overshadow my forthcoming nuptials with thoughts of legacies and violent smugglers, would it?'

'No, indeed,' replied Groves, who was nevertheless looking most perturbed.

AN: moving swiftly on, clicky clicky…dd xx


	36. Chapter 36

AN: and here is more…

36

It became habit for Norrington to ride daily to the Groves' plantation to see Alicia, arriving late in the evening after finishing his affairs at the fort. Frequently they simply sat and drank cooling drinks in the well-lit sitting-room, discussing the day or holding hands in contented silence.

At times, watching her mouth move as she spoke softly, or seeing the way the candlelight highlighted the glossy surface of her hair, Norrington would crave the right to simply hold her for endless hours in his arms…relaxed and informal, as a married couple would be.

However, fearing intrusion from Groves, who would certainly look with displeasure upon any overly passionate displays of affection, he allowed himself only to kiss his fiancée swiftly on the mouth upon taking his leave, although he was convinced he saw a similar desire in her to return the gesture ardently.

One typically fine day found him finishing work in the early afternoon for once, and he took it upon himself to ride leisurely to the plantation to see the woman he loved.

The butler, accustomed to the Commodore's regular visits to the house, let him in through the front door without question, and Norrington stepped into the cool hall, removing his hat. Everything was silent in the cavernous chamber, and, calling out, he heard his voice echo eerily.

He wandered slowly through the house, peering cautiously into each empty room, relishing the cold air after the dry heat outside. It seemed that the entire household was enjoying the sunshine.

Then he caught the whisper of a distant echo, a magical, ethereal tinkle. It took some moments before he realized that the sound was, in fact, no otherworldly enchanted song, but a piano being played. He crept nearer, listening closely as the player continued her practice.

Norrington finally reached the end of a long, gloomy passageway lined with landscapes and gleaming busts, and found himself at the source of the beautiful noise.

Alicia was seated demurely at the pianoforte in a room he had never before seen, peering intently at a book of Scarlatti sonatas while she played. Her fiancé was transfixed, watching her lovely shoulders rise and fall as she navigated the tricky fugal scalic passages, seeing how she bit her lip as she executed long trills. He realized he was holding his breath, but declined to exhale for fear of breaking the spell.

He had somehow forgotten about the pianoforte Armitage had sent, and the music he himself had given, such an inadequate gift in comparison, and chastised himself for not imploring to hear her play before. Unconsciously, he sighed for her beauty and her hidden talent.

Alicia started in alarm at this, and caught sight of Norrington leaning against the doorpost, idly observing her practice. She blushed and closed the lid hurriedly, tidying the sheaf of music on the stand.

'No, don't stop,' Norrington beseeched, walking briskly into the room and standing by the shiny instrument. 'Please…carry on…I have never had the joy of hearing you play before…'

'For good reason,' replied his fiancée, continuing to tidy up. 'As you hear, I am lacking in any ability or talent.'

'No! Truly, I have never heard anything of such rare beauty before. I beg you, play again.'

Alicia looked dubiously at him over the music stand. She raised one eyebrow. 'Has Elizabeth been coaching you in the art of complimenting a lady, James?' she asked teasingly. 'I confess, you are improving…better than comparing my dress to a parrot, I declare…'

'Well, if you will not play for me,' Norrington said smilingly, 'at least come and sit with me a while. It is not often we see each other in the afternoon.' He held out his hand to guide her to an armchair.

'You should have warned me you were coming,' she said softly as they sat side by side. 'Look at me, look at this dress…and my hair…I don't always look like this, you know…I would have made an effort had I known you were coming…'

To his surprise and consternation, Norrington suddenly felt tears well up in his eyes at her words, and he blinked furiously to clear his vision, cursing himself for being so sentimental.

'You…I…Alicia, you know it doesn't matter _what _you look like…and besides,' he heard his voice crack with emotion and laughed inwardly at his boyish emotionality, '…you look lovely today. Very…free, somehow.' He blushed and looked away.

Alicia laughed nervously and touched his hand.

'So…' Norrington said, swiftly changing the subject to mask his sudden awkwardness. 'I…wanted to ask you about our wedding. The date, I mean…you see…I…I spoke to Governor Swann this morning…and…I may have to go away.'

'Away?' she asked quietly, looking intently at him.

'Some…some useless pursuit of smugglers in the outlying islands,' he said, trying to trivialize the facts, waving his hand impatiently. 'It…it may last some months, I am afraid. And…well, to be frank, it would be a great comfort to me during this voyage to know my wife is waiting in Port Royal for me.'

_My wife_. It sounded wonderful on his tongue.

'You mean…' Alicia said thoughtfully. 'if you were to…to die, it would not be without having…'

Norrington looked at her in alarm. 'I said nothing about _death_,' he said hastily. 'I merely…I would like to enjoy a few precious weeks with you before I am thrown to the ends of the earth with only Captain Gillette for company.' (AN: Gillington fans…you may have a point, but this is a K fic! No! No! NO! No subtext…)

She smiled gently, though her eyes still betrayed some worry. 'So…you would have us marry soon?'

'If that is acceptable to you.'

'I would marry you today, if I could.'

Norrington smiled, unable to answer her verbally. Looking at her shining eyes and gently parted lips, he wondered again what he had done to deserve her love. But there was no time to consider this, for she was suddenly in his arms, her mouth on his, and he could not stop himself from pulling her closer to him, exulting in the feel of her splayed fingers on the skin of his neck.

'Your…your brother…' he gasped finally. Alicia did not look wholly repentant, and Norrington was forced to admit that neither was he. He laughed sheepishly, brushing her hair out of her eyes for her. 'You will _ruin _me, Alicia Groves,' he said in mock despair.

'All the more reason to marry me sooner, then, Commodore,' she whispered, still very close to him. He nodded mutely.

'I…I will talk to the parson tomorrow, then,' he said, trying to edge away from the temptation of the milky skin of her collarbones. 'The sooner we marry…the less time Miss Swann has to plan celebrations for all the town…goodness knows what she may be plotting. Fireworks, I don't doubt…jugglers and sword-swallowers…I do wish Mr Turner would marry the girl and distract her from her mission of ruining my life.'

Alicia laughed at his mock severity.

'Ah!' the Commodore said suddenly, fumbling in his pocket. 'I have a gift for you…I almost forgot, I picked it up when the traders came from the Americas three days ago.' He handed over a small package to her small hands, stuttering an apology for the size of it.

She deftly untied the ribbons around the box, and opened the clasp to reveal a small silver locket with etchings of ivy and wild roses curling around the edge. 'Oh!' she gasped in delight, tracing the intricate pattern with one finger. 'Oh, James, how _beautiful_!' she exclaimed. 'Thank you, thank you, my James…you are so kind to me always…I…'

Norrington blushed at her extravagant praise. 'Well…it is a very inadequate token of my love for you…it is not a pianoforte, after all…'

Alicia frowned. 'I…I could live quite easily without the pianoforte,' she said quietly. 'But I could not live at all without you. So stop being foolish and let me cut a lock of your hair to put in this lovely locket.'

Norrington sat quite still while she fetched her embroidery scissors, and carefully teased a tendril of dark hair from beneath his stiff wig, slicing through it cautiously. She pressed it to her lips and looked at him with heavy eyes before coiling it into the small hidden compartment of the locket.

AN: that's all folks! Until tomorrow, or until my father locks himself accidentally in the cellar, raaaa. Muchos love, dd xx


	37. Chapter 37

AN: ah, you legends! I had some truly tear-jerking reviews from the past two chapters – don't know _what _I've done to deserve you…hope you enjoy this chapter, which I like to think is quite humorous in a gentle Norrington-and-Alicia sort of way…dd xx

37

And so it was settled. The parson was only too happy to oblige the respected Commodore and join him to his young bride in holy matrimony the very next week. Miss Swann was far from happy, and was heard to bemoan the lack of time for preparation to all and sundry.

'_Really_,' she said to Elinor Groves one morning as the two walked arm-in-arm along the promenade, Theodore Groves' animosity towards his sister's friend having rapidly dissipated, 'it is _too _bad of James. I am certain he has done this on purpose to vex me. There will be _no _time to order a proper French chef…and I do not know _what _Alicia will do for bridesmaids' gowns. He is such a typical man, I declare…all thoughts of ships and weapons and none of society and _finesse_.'

Elinor laughed as she adjusted her parasol to protect her from the mid-morning sun. 'You do him a disservice, Miss Swann,' she said gently. 'On the contrary, he thinks of nothing but Alicia…for I know she has no wish for a grand spectacle, and is quite content to have a small ceremony for a few close friends.'

'But James is the Commodore of the entire British Navy in this Port! He cannot simply crawl in secret to the altar in such an underhand fashion! People will _talk_…'

'Oh, Elizabeth, leave the poor man alone,' replied her companion, smiling to herself. 'He condescended to have an engagement ball…now leave him to marry how he wishes.'

Dislike it though she might, Elizabeth was forced to obey Elinor's sound advice, and, indeed, found it rather enjoyable to accompany Alicia to the seamstress to have her simple wedding dress fitted.

Alicia stood on a raised dais, her arms held away from her body, while Mistress Hopkins knelt at the hem of a silken ivory gown, her mouth clamped around several dozen pins which she whipped out periodically to adjust the length.

Elizabeth stood in the window of the workshop, gazing critically at the proceedings and feeling that the dress could do with a great deal more lace, and that the neckline was altogether much too high.

However, when Alicia finally turned around gingerly, for fear of impaling herself on one of the pins, she was forced to concede that her friend looked phenomenally beautiful. She smiled happily. 'Alicia, you look _angelic,_' she declared. 'You must warn the Commodore, for he is sure to lose his composure if he sees you like that for the first time at the altar. And…oh, you _must _have a veil! I do believe Papa has mother's in the attic somewhere, and it is trimmed with such pretty lace roses. I am sure he would love you to borrow it.'

Alicia regarded her reflection in the long glass, noting the way the dress billowed around her shoulders and fit snugly around her tiny waist, and, finally, began to look forward to her wedding.

The days passed swiftly as Elizabeth did her best to create a memorable wedding for the reluctant couple. She had succeeded in winning her father to her side, and the Governor had duly pressed Norrington into celebrating the reception at his colossal house, at his expense.

Norrington was at first loath to accept this kind offer, but the Governor insisted. He was quite aware that the Commodore missed his father in England very keenly, and felt it would be a rather great shame not to repay the great service the officer had rendered to the community in some form or another. As the closest to a father figure in the Port, Governor Swann was not about to let the groom feel abandoned on the most important day of his life.

So it was that the two men sat in Norrington's study one evening, indulging in a fine bottle of port, while the Governor bombarded his companion with what he considered to be fatherly advice.

'I think you've made an excellent choice, Commodore,' the Governor said, leaning back in his chair and smacking his lips contentedly.

'Why, thank you, Governor,' replied the other dryly, twisting his crystal glass between long fingers. 'I always make a point of ordering my port from the best vineyards in Oporto.'

The Governor frowned. 'Hmm…I must say, you've changed greatly since you met Miss Groves. You've a confounded flippancy about you these days. I _meant_, you've made an excellent choice in singling out Miss Groves as your wife.'

Norrington smiled to himself. 'Ah, indeed. Actually, I'm inclined to think it was _she _who singled _me _out. I am no expert where women are concerned, as I'm sure you are aware.' He regarded his friend critically over the top of his glass.

'Come now, James,' said the Governor. 'I hardly think we can accuse Miss Alicia Groves of being an expert where men are concerned, can we?'

'I meant nothing of the sort,' Norrington said good-naturedly, recalling Armitage's empty taunts so long ago. 'I simply intended to absolve myself of any…culpability where the formation of this union is concerned. Why, I profess I was entirely ignorant of my feelings for her until she arrived on my doorstep, disheveled and frightened, with twigs in her hair and mud on her dress.'

The Governor laughed at the image. 'No,' he concurred, 'I do believe it is entirely my meddling daughter who must be blamed for this charming little romance.' He nodded sagely.

'Yes,' Norrington replied thoughtfully, staring into the night outside the window with an almost wistful look in his eyes. 'Yes…it was all Elizabeth. From the very, very beginning…isn't it odd,' he said suddenly, as though the thought had only just occurred to him, 'that had circumstances been different, we would now be married…imagine, Mrs Elizabeth Norrington…' he closed his eyes in a mixture of amusement and reflection.

Governor Swann looked more than a little uncomfortable at this new topic. 'Well…I…you know how headstrong Elizabeth is…I daresay you would have been…happy…I tried my hardest, James…but you know how she is…'

Norrington held up a lazy hand, smiling indulgently. 'There is no need for excuses, Weatherby…I am entirely sensible that we would have been a disaster. A rebel and an officer…perish the thought! It's...funny, somehow…I was so convinced I was in love with her…I had known for years, I thought…and then it took me _months_ to realize how much I love Alicia. No, Elizabeth has taught me some very valuable lessons about myself…she has opened my eyes…do you know, I cursed the cruelty that kept us in this tiny town together, forced to meet, forever awkward and blighted by my stupid ideas…the idea that I _must _have a wife…I used to hate thinking of her, once I knew her true opinion of me. And now…now it is a great pleasure to know that not only am I blessed with the love of a wonderful woman, but that I count among my closest friends one of the wisest, most intelligent young women I have ever met. And…I hope and pray that her opinion of me as a friend is far better than her former opinion of me as a prospective husband. She used to…she used to look so utterly _miserable _when she smiled at me before…as though she _knew _she would be made to marry me one day, and the thought of it filled her with dread. And now she embraces me, and shares her secrets with me, and rejoices in my own joy…I suppose I know now, why I was so infatuated with her. It was my cousin, you see…my cousin Philippa in England. She was…such a sister to me…it was…so very difficult to leave her behind. And Elizabeth…Elizabeth was like her, inquisitive and rebellious, and funny, and charming, and oh, so beautiful. I wanted Pip back, you see…but…Pip is irreplaceable, as all great people are. And Elizabeth…to me, now she, too, is irreplaceable…'

Norrington looked up, and found that the Governor was asleep, his port glass tilting dangerously in his hand. The Commodore reached across slowly, and removed the vessel gently, smiling. Perhaps it was for the best that the Governor had not heard his emotional confessions and rambling thoughts.

He looked around his study in the semi-darkness, his friend's heavy breathing the only discernible sound in the huge house. He would have a miniature of Alicia on his desk, to distract him from dull naval contracts, and messy, childish portraits of 'Papa' tacked askew to the wall. Alicia would bring life to the house…huge bowls filled with freesias and wild roses, instead of the musty piles of books.

It would be so refreshing to hear the rustle of full skirts in the hallway outside, and know it was his lovely wife going to the garden to cut some flowers, or else call the children in for supper. He would be working diligently on some map or chart, and she would creep behind him and caress the back of his neck, and ease his heavy mind. And when he rode to the house each day, he would be heralded to the door by the voice of a shimmering piano and a happy gasp of delight before she threw herself into his hungry arms.

And yet…Norrington glanced shrewdly at the sleeping Governor, who was snoring slightly. He thought of the missions to intercept the smugglers, and thought of the smell of fired cannon, and of blood and burning flesh. There was no way to reconcile the brutality of war and the angelic fragility of Alicia Groves, and he wondered with which he would end his life – at the side of the woman who now held him in her thrall, or wretchedly, _pitifully_, with only the thought of the promise in her eyes to comfort him as he died below decks, in the squalor of a makeshift hospital.

He frowned at his own melancholy, a state of mind quite unsuitable for a man three days away from marital bliss, and began to gather the empty bottles and glasses.

AN: any good? And just a little irrelevant aside, I went to see 'The Wind That Shakes The Barley' t'other day, with Cillian Murphy in it. Go and see it. Really. It's truly great cinema. Just a small random addition there… dd xx


	38. Chapter 38

AN: woohoo, the wedding approaches! On an unrelated note, everyone keep away from the West Midlands, because I'm now fully licensed (damn fool examiner) to drive…bad, bad idea. Here is sweet lil Norrie for your perusal, you darlings… dd xx

38

Norrington dined with the Groves family for the last time as a single man the night before the ceremony. None of the company were particularly disposed to idle conversation that night, and the handsome feast of rich stew and fresh vegetables was consumed in contemplative silence.

Elinor Groves watched the Commodore exchange looks laden with emotion and suppressed happiness with her sister-in-law, and wondered if she and her husband had ever been so caught up with one another.

Groves, meanwhile, picked at the French beans and tried one more to reconcile himself to the fact that his friend would be marrying his sister the very next day. There seemed to be little he could possibly say. Even now it seemed surreal, an impossibility. A clever joke, intended to tease and torture him. He was still not sure why the idea of a union between the two should distress him so, but he was inclined to feel it was to do with his inside knowledge of the life of a sailor, and the premonition that Alicia would spend much of her marriage moping onshore, trying to recall the face of a man sailing, fighting, dying far away.

Alicia was panicking slightly, as she sliced into her soufflé with her spoon. The silence at the table was beginning to prey on her nerves. Perhaps it was her dismal company that was subduing the group? She envisaged miserable evening meals, the two of them seated at opposite ends of a long table. James would be kind, trying so hard to draw her into conversation, but she was filled with dread at the thought that it had all been a happy chance this far…that the minute they were married, she would lose all power of speech and vivacity and fall into a mediocre shell.

It would not be fair to James, to be thus enslaved to a bland, babbling wretch. She wondered idly how long it would be before he fled, human as he was, exhausted by the effort of trying to make her more exciting, more wonderful than she ever could be.

She looked up briefly to reach for her glass, and caught his eye, and saw in his swift glance a slow-burning desire, a deep, wordless expression of devotion and adoration, and she chastised herself for thinking such horrid things about a marriage that had not yet begun. She smiled back shyly, and noticed the way his whole face lit up at the meager reciprocation, and decided it would probably all work out well, after all.

Norrington was similarly engaged in tormenting himself with pessimistic, dramatic nightmares. He was grateful for the unusual quiet that had befallen the household that evening, for it gave him time to reflect, to think with each action _this is the last time I do this as a single man_. It was certainly a bittersweet farewell to a way of life that had only ever mocked and demoralized him.

However, he craved one final moment of privacy with Alicia, one more test of his gentlemanly restraint, a chance to ask her one more time, to satisfy his conscience that she was willing and happy to pledge herself to him forever. Looking at her demure countenance as she dabbed softly at her lips with her napkin, he was overwhelmed with a hideous guilt that he might be forcing this perfect angel into something unwanted and dreaded.

Thus they were all engulfed in misgiving and doubt that final night, with the exception of Elinor, who had convinced herself long ago that the Commodore had shed his immature infatuation with Miss Swann, and was quite prepared to become a fine husband for her young sister-in-law.

The meal ended at last, and the two men retired to Groves' study to talk in hushed murmurs, while Alicia and Elinor sat primly in the chilly parlour. The fire had not yet been lit.

Elinor looked sharply at Alicia, who was staring into the empty grate.

'Are you nervous?' she asked suddenly, causing the younger girl to start and look up.

'I…yes, I am,' she replied frankly. 'I am sure I shall not sleep at all tonight.'

Elinor smiled sadly. 'It is quite natural for you to be nervous. It is no small undertaking, marriage. But you _must _try to sleep. You will look dreadfully pale if you do not.'

Alicia nodded weakly. 'I…I don't suppose I know him very well, that is all…' she was still staring intently into the grate.

'Nonsense,' Elinor replied gently. 'It is impossible to know another human being completely, and yet you and James are as understanding of each other's characters as it is possible to be, I feel. It is simply your…natural reserve and timidity that restricts your honesty with each other. Mark my words; by tomorrow evening there will be no secrets between you.'

Alicia pressed her lips tightly together and looked shyly at her sister-in-law. 'Do you think so?' she blurted out.

Elinor nodded wisely. 'Could you not see the Commodore this evening? He was dying to talk to you, to tell you everything about himself and to learn everything about you. But there are years for that, Alicia. Just one more day to wait…'

The other woman nodded. 'I…I think I will go to bed, now,' she said quietly. 'You are right, I need to sleep.' She rose and crossed slowly to the door, and Elinor noted how slight was her frame, and how young the look in her eyes.

'Alicia!' she called suddenly, the girl turning quickly, alarmed.

Elinor swallowed awkwardly. 'Remember…' she said haltingly. 'Remember…that you will be his…his wife. You must…you must not mind if he…if he hurts you. It will only be once.' Her face red, she turned in her chair towards the fire, while Alicia exited the room in confusion and apprehension.

Her brother and her fiancé were talking in hushed voices when she entered the hall; the Commodore was evidently in the process of taking his leave. His face was grave, and she heard her name mentioned in his deep, beloved voice.

'Ah! Here she is, you may ask her yourself,' said her brother loudly, gesturing to Alicia. The Commodore fiddled with the brim of his hat nervously, and Alicia felt her heart plummet – surely he would not break off the engagement the night of the wedding?

'Goodnight, Theodore,' Norrington said quietly, as her brother returned to the parlour, to his wife. Alicia, her eyes flitting between the impassive floor and James' serious gaze, would have paid any price to be sitting with her family, playing cards and laughing carelessly over a glass of port. And the thought of evenings like that for the rest of her life, with never a moment of solitude in James' arms by the firelight, filled her with dread.

'Please, James,' she burst out frantically, 'please, do not end our attachment…I will try to be better, I will, I promise, I am…I am so sorry that I am boring and dull…please, just give me a chance…I swear, I swear I will not make you disappointed…' she felt the familiar tears well up inside her and buried her head in her hands in despair.

She noticed through her hysterical, shallow breathing, that Norrington was simply standing stock still in amazement, watching her in utter confusion. Finally, with a hearty sniff, she managed to compose herself.

'You…I…you…' the Commodore was, for once, completely inarticulate. In the end, he dissolved into bemused laughter, chuckling in bewilderment at their combined misconceptions. 'You…you thought I did not wish to marry you?' His voice was enough to ensure Alicia that this was as far as possible from the truth.

'Well…you were so grave at dinner, and hardly spoke a word, to me or to Theodore…I thought…I thought you were aggrieved with me…'

Norrington stared. 'No, never,' he refuted defiantly. 'I…was merely thinking that tonight is my last night as single man, and that I am glad to renounce that lonely way of life. Especially to such an angel…' He smiled awkwardly, wincing at his sentimental turn of phrase. Alicia nearly burst into tears again in relief.

'But…I…you are still happy to marry on the morrow, then?' she asked tentatively.

'Of course,' he replied gravely, clasping her hands in his tenderly. 'As long as this remains your wish…'

'James…may we not run away, tonight? I am driven to distraction waiting, and worrying about dresses and flowers and cakes and so on…I care nothing for such trivialities…only you, I only want to call you husband.'

Norrington kissed her lightly on the forehead. 'If only we could,' he murmured wistfully. 'But it would not be fair to deprive Miss Swann and Captain Gillette of their finely orchestrated show, would it? It will soon be morning, and we will soon be married…and then you shall call me husband, and you shall be Mrs J Norrington. How does that sound, my darling, darling one?'

She looked up at him and smiled peacefully. 'I will fall asleep with the sound of those words in my ear like angel song,' she whispered. 'Mrs J Norrington – how well it sounds!' she giggled girlishly, and pressed a kiss to his clasped hands.

'I will see you tomorrow, then, Miss Alicia Groves,' Norrington said impishly. 'And…I do wish you would try not to be so infernally beautiful…it is no wonder I never spoke at dinner, with you stopping my heart with that wonderful dress…' and with that impertinent remark he ran down the steps to the waiting carriage, waving animatedly until the vehicle drew away into the blue night.

AN: ciao, sausages! Just…3 more chapters to go, I believe! Dd xx


	39. Chapter 39

AN: hmph. Internet breakage seems to be occurring very frequently chez moi. I suspect foul play – ie my father pulling the plug to encourage me to read fat tomes of medieval history. Which is frankly, not what the summer is for. However, I am now back with a vengeance, and bring much contemplative!Norrie and such goodies, with my very best wishes and thanks for your reviews. And to all you UK lovelies, who's looking forward to 'How do you solve a problem like Maria'? I love John Barrowman. Is all I have to say… dd xx

39

Norrington was less than pleased to wake on the morning of his marriage to find that he had left the window open, and neglected to draw the drapes. Consequently, blinding shafts of sunshine and a lusty dawn chorus of birdsong awoke him from a sleep absent of dreams several hours before his usual rising time.

Unable to fall back into sleep, he reached for the book of sonnets beside his bed and tried to read. The words merged mercilessly into each other, and slipped away, and refused to seep into his leaping mind. In disgust, he cast the book to the floor and sat upright in bed, a faintly comical sight with his rumpled nightshirt and tousled hair. The birdsong had finally ceased, and there was blissful silence in the room, but Norrington found this grated on his nerves even more.

He seethed as he tried to estimate the hours before the marriage. Four, maybe five hours to wait before he needed to be at the church. Hours of silence and a total lack of useful application lay before him, during which, he knew, his nerves would augment and his inclination to flee the region in a small rowing boat would swell out of all proportions.

The household staff were to blame, he decided. They had cleaned each and every room in the house, removed the dust-covers from the many chambers the Commodore in his bachelorship neglected to use, they had organized the menus for the week ahead many days previous, and had rehearsed their roles upon Mrs Norrington's arrival to perfection.

Worst of all, the valet had kindly laid out Norrington's wedding clothes the night before, so he was spared even the exertion of fetching his uniform from the wardrobe. He grimaced as he regarded the offending garments on the chair. To be married in what were, essentially, one's _work _clothes. Granted, he was to wear a new shirt, due to the stubborn bloodstains on all his others, and was to be adorned with a few more golden baubles and medals than he might have worn aboard the _Dauntless._ However, it seemed that there was to be no escaping the sea, even today.

Norrington allowed himself a few moments of inward cursing as he thought of the whole affair. Not content with organizing the catering, the flowers, the bridesmaids' dresses and the music at the reception, Elizabeth Swann had infected Captain Gillette with an unfortunate zeal to make his own personal mark on the proceedings.

Hence, the Commodore was being forced by an inferior officer to marry, not wearing a fine French silk waistcoat and new coat in an attractive shade of rusty red, but instead in his naval uniform. There would be an archway of rifles to guide the couple from the church, and no doubt a band blasting out _Rule, Britannia_, Norrington imagined glumly. _One day_, he thought, _one day with no reminder that my career is a potentially fatal one_,_ is that too much to ask?_

The proposed missions were preying heavily on his mind. He was sure Alicia would not enjoy being reminded of the duty that would carry her husband away so soon. However, he was resigned to this nautical flavour to the occasion, and besides, would not risk dressing at present, for fear of dripping his morning tea down his pristine front.

Quite apart from this sartorial dilemma, Norrington was painfully aware of another looming question. Once again, his distress was attributable to one well-meaning Captain Gillette. He glanced nervously about him, at the expanse of white sheets and crumpled eiderdown, and remembered the gentle chastisement and disapproval in Gillette's eyes whenever he suggested a trip into town. More often than not, the silent objection in the Captain's countenance were enough to persuade the Commodore to stay at home and play cards, instead of haunting the wretched bordellos. And consequently, he was poorly versed in the physical aspect of love, and was plagued by the notion that Freddy Armitage was most likely an expert in this particular field.

It was possibly for the best, he thought stoically, considering he was a respected pillar of the community. However, the fact remained that he was positively dreading the evening, and he wondered again if the little rowing boat idea might not be an option. He could flee to some far-off island, and live celibate, single and unshaven for the rest of his life.

He grinned wryly to himself at his stupid fantasizing as he arose from the offending bed, and went about his normal toilette. Ten minutes later, cleanly shaven, coiffed and robed in his dressing-gown, he descended the sweeping stairs in search of some tea and toast.

'The mail, sir,' Mrs Manning said as he met her at the foot of the stairs, handing him a thick stack of envelopes.

'Good Lord,' he said, blinking in surprise. 'So many letters…I don't know how people think I will have time to answer them.'

'Well, it _is _your wedding day, Commodore Norrington,' replied the housekeeper.

'Quite.' He turned to enter the morning room, and remembered suddenly. 'Oh, Mrs Manning, would you be so kind as to ensure there are flowers in the dining room and the parlour this afternoon?'

The elderly woman nodded curtly, and turned towards the kitchen. Norrington watched her go. Surely she could not fear that her new mistress might usurp her position of dominance? Norrington could scarcely imagine Alicia running a household – she was so timid and unassuming.

But there was little time to consider the attitudes and opinions of the servants. The Commodore was soon seated at his customary little table, picking at a piece of rapidly cooling toast. Every motion he undertook seemed to garner great significance. There was finality about each action, as if his life as a bachelor was bidding goodbye to him slowly, with each final gesture. _This is the last time_, he thought as he poured his tea. Tomorrow it would be Alicia fixing his breakfast, smiling at him through the fragrant steam of China tea. The chairs by the window – no more would he sit there alone, but with another beside him, two companions happy in their contented silence, occupied perhaps with a newspaper and embroidery, or reading a letter aloud. He had not quite been able to quash his wicked thought the night before; _this is the last time I go to bed alone_.

His mind wandering again, he turned resolutely to the mountain of mail, armed with the silver-plated paper knife. Every envelope he opened seemed to be a well-worded expression of good wishes and congratulation from a guest he was sure to see that very day. He added card after card to a pile by his elbow, baffled by this new custom. No doubt Alicia would know what to do with them – she would want to keep them, perhaps, and look at them when he was gone away.

The morning dragged on, the sun rising slowly, lazily into a hazy sky, while Norrington struggled with a frank letter to his father in England. Now more than ever he missed his father – his stern yet loving face, and proud smile as he waved his son, the young Lieutenant, off from the quay in Southampton years earlier. Norrington wondered if his first letters detailing the beginnings of his relationship with Miss Groves had arrived in England yet.

He read verses from 1 Corinthians 13, and rearranged the miniatures in their frames on his desk – his mother, his father, his cousin Philippa, his brother Oliver. The only time he had regretted being in the navy had been upon hearing of his brother's death – he had been on the other side of the world, unable to hold Ollie's hand and tell him, for the first and only time, how much he meant to him.

Occupied in thoughts far too melancholy for a marriage day, he whiled away the sweltering morning hours until he heard Groves' carriage outside. He checked his reflection in the glass, thinking wistfully of his new rust-coloured coat, and fairly ran from the house into the waiting vehicle. Groves shook his hand briskly as he settled himself, looking to the Commodore to be very fashionably dressed in a light green coat. Norrington noticed a dark stain on one sleeve of his own coat and wondered who had bled on him now. He seemed to have a terrible habit of allowing midshipmen to haemorrhage on him in battle.

AN: woo, it's NEXT CHAPTER! I love weddings. Much like Captain Jack, naturellement. Get the confetti ready, my loves… dd xx


	40. Chapter 40

AN: here it is! The wedding, hopefully including much squeeness. Well, to me it does anyway. But I'm a romantic sap in general. Hope you enjoy, dd xx

40

They arrived at last at the church, to be greeted upon descending by an excited crowd of townspeople all craning for a look at the groom. If Norrington could possibly have leapt back into the carriage and sped back to his house, he would have done so, but Groves, seeming to anticipate his distress at the large number of people present, clutched fast to his forearm and anchored him. He pushed him inside unceremoniously, and stationed himself by the door to wait for his sister.

Inside was hardly better; every pew was filled with curious citizens, dressed in their finest and craning to look at the Commodore as he made his way up the aisle to the seat at the front.

'What the hell are all these people doing here?' he hissed angrily at Gillette, who had taken his seat beside him and was making a great show of polishing the ring.

'They've come to see the show, sir,' the Captain replied innocently.

'Oh, I _see_,' replied the other scathingly. 'I suppose this was Miss Swann's bright idea, as ever. Roll up, roll up for the circus! Come and see the Commodore mess up his vows, and drop the ring, and trip on the train of the bride's dress! She _knew _I only wanted a few people here, damn her.'

'Don't swear in church, sir,' Gillette said sweetly. Norrington shot him a frosty glare, folded his arms grumpily and stared crossly ahead. Gillette smirked.

Meanwhile, outside, the bride was arriving. The gawking crowds murmured in awed approval as Elinor and Elizabeth fussed around her dress, straightening ribbons and tweaking lace hems. Alicia stood as though oblivious to the commotion, clutching her tidy bouquet of peonies in shaking hands. She was immensely grateful for the cover of the late Mrs Swann's veil, hiding her puffy, tired eyes from the public.

She had been unable to sleep, the shadows of packing-boxes and trunks haunting her in her bed. The sight of the maids carefully packing her childhood dolls and toys away had reduced her fairly to tears, though she could not say why. It had been inexplicably difficult to bid farewell to a house she had occupied for only eight short months, but she supposed it was due to the implicit farewell to a way of life, an easy existence with Theodore and Elinor and the girls that hurt her most.

Elinor had asked her last night whether she was afraid, and she had laughed dismissively. But in truth, she thought, watching Emma and Lucinda run around merrily in their little blue dresses, she had never been more terrified in her life. The thought of her and the Commodore, the only two inhabitants of a large house. There would be noone else to run to in moments of distress, only James. It would be so easy to get on his nerves. She was quite convinced she would aggravate him out of his mind within a week of moving in, or would find to her detriment that she was in fact a dull, uninspiring person unsuited to the role of a lifelong companion.

The bells of the small church, and the panicked whispers between Elinor and Elizabeth confirmed that the priest was ready to begin. Alicia took her brother's arm slowly and made her way to the back of the central aisle, concentrating hard on the long, delicate hem of her dress.

'Would you please stand for the entrance of the bride?' the priest addressed the congregation.

Norrington turned around to frown at the gathered masses, who were slowly shuffling to their feet, whispering noisily. But he was unable to arrange his features into a stern rebuke, despite years of commanding and admonishing men and boys aboard ships. For Alicia stood at the other end of the church, the daylight flooding around her figure, shining through the delicate veil and bathing her in a dazzling glow. _A halo for my angel_, he thought, and smiled awkwardly at the white seraph walking slowly towards him on her brother's arm.

The Commodore swallowed nervously, and turned to face the priest again, quite sure he would be unable to speak the vows when it came to his turn. _A fine to-do this is,_ he reflected, _when I cannot look at my wife without becoming a gibbering idiot._ And then there was no more time for reflection, for she was at his elbow, and somehow, mechanically, he helped her to kneel, and knelt himself, and heard the priest's voice as if from very far away, 'dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of almighty God…'

Norrington, later, found he could remember very little of the ceremony itself. As an automaton, he repeated lines, and listened as Alicia pledged herself to him. He could not even remember signing the register, or sliding the cool band of gold onto her finger.

But he remembered her amazing, amazed smile as he lifted her veil and cautiously rearranged the lace at the back of her head, and regarded his wife clearly for the first time. His mouth twitched anxiously, and she looked down briefly at his hand loosely clasping hers, and then held his intense gaze once more. In that look he seemed to see the whole world, every feeling he had ever experienced with her, from the confusion of their early acquaintance, to the heart-stopping fear when he saw her silhouette drop from the side of the _Dauntless_, the rushing grief at her harsh words after the duel, and the soaring jubilance when he took her in his arms that evening at Groves' house.

He must have been lost in the moment, as the phrase in Alicia's inane romantic novel so many months ago had said, for he became aware of Gillette hissing 'Kiss her!' frantically from his seat in the front pew. And for once, Commodore James Edward Norrington forgot his dignity, forgot his haughty public image, forgot his stupid, stifling reputation, and kissed his wife with hungry passion and ardour, her arms snaking automatically behind his neck and her knees buckling as he embraced her.

Alicia looked staggered as he pulled away, and stumbled a little, light-headed. Desperately, she tried to look scandalized at the rather shocking display of public affection from a very private man, but could not. Instead, she smiled mischievously and kissed him lightly once more, and hand in hand they ran down the aisle into the waiting sunshine.

_Fin_

AN: so…that's it. C'est tout. I feel like I've lost a limb or something, I've been working on this for so long. As my sister said t'other day, 'when I watch POTC I'm always confused as to why Alicia isn't in it…' I really hope you've enjoyed it, and thank you all so much for your reviews and support along the way. I still have so many ideas whirling in my disturbed mind, so if enough people clamour, may see my way to writing a sequel. Who knows? For now, at least, let me thank you for your company and wish you all the best for the future. No doubt I'll be hovering around at some point. Much love, dorian dark xxx


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